Not Like This
by harlequindreaming
Summary: Draco is being trained in Legilimency for his mission as a Death Eater. What happens when he decides to use it on an unsuspecting Hermione? What will he see, and how will it change him?  Dramione. OoC 5th book and onward. Set in the 6th.
1. Reveries

_Author's note: I'd like to apologize to the people who've already started reading this story. I took it down last night shortly after posting the second chapter because I felt the need to rewrite the whole thing from scratch. I wasn't satisfied with the writing quality. This story was inspired by two things –the ShinjiroxfemMC story in the game Persona3 and the song No Umbrella by Cynthia Alexander, both very dear to my heart- and I want to do them both justice. So I took down the story in order to improve the writing and amp up the plot a little. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint._

_While I'm at it, I'll do the standard disclaimer. The world of Harry Potter (including its characters, dialogue and plot) do not belong to me, unfortunately. If they did, Dramione would reign supreme and Ron can just go barf slugs in a corner. The Persona3 characters, dialogue and plot are also not mine._

_This is OoC Book 5 and after._

**xxxxx**

SEPTEMBER 1st. 330 DAYS AGO.

Draco Malfoy stepped out of the Hogwarts Express and glared at the station sign, his left hand shielding his eyes from the sun. He couldn't believe he was back here. He didn't want to be. But he was under orders and like it or not, he'd been packed off to this bloody school once again. The very thought of those moldy stone walls, insipid classes and nauseating social interactions made him want to kill himself. Or maybe just puke.

But neither death nor semi-permanent sickness were open options to him. He was, unfortunately, here under orders. The Dark Lord had expressly requested _him _to remain at Hogwarts and act as a spy. He was to report the goings-on of bloody Potter and his friends (as well as any other useful information) to the Dark Lord himself. An honor, they had said. A punishment, more likely. He knew his father's mistakes, he knew where his family stood, and he knew their last name was going to the mud now in the darker circles. His left arm twitched. No, Draco was here because the Dark Lord was venting his Lucius-induced frustrations on him. He kicked his trunk. Pathetic. The darkest and most powerful wizard on earth was acting like a child.

"Draco. Come on, or you'll miss the carriages." The voice of his friend, Blaise Zabini, broke through his mental cussing of his master. Muttering a few more profanities under his breath, he picked up his trunk and joined his other friends in line for a carriage. Up ahead, Pansy Parkinson was sneaking glances at him, biting her lip. He pointedly ignored her. Girls had never interested him, for all his mother's efforts to set him up with one. They were just so… _mindless, _the way they practically threw themselves at his feet, drooling over his riches and his family name. Draco shuddered. For all his deviousness, his apathy and his arrogance, Draco had firm and somewhat chivalrous standards when it came to romantic relationships. He wanted a girl he could respect, not a lapdog.

It was finally their turn to get into a carriage. Draco heaved his trunk in and got into the last open seat. Across the small space, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle both gave him slow nods. He eyed them with distaste. They were idiots, only useful because they would do anything you asked at the promise of cake. He didn't know why he had to put up with this.

He closed his eyes as the carriage jerked and started forward. That was a lie, of course. He knew exactly why he had to put up with this.

**xxxxx**

_Please, Draco. Please._

_A pleading voice._

_That is enough, Narcissa. You are a Malfoy. Malfoys do not beg._

_A cruel voice._

_Standing. He remembered standing in the middle of that dark room, a room he had never been allowed into as a younger boy. He remembered the high ceiling with its glistening chandelier, the walls lined with books, the large desk at the far end with the Malfoy crest above it, the word Potestas engraved underneath. Power. That was all his family had ever cared about. Money and power and infamy. He lifted his head and met those sharp, gray eyes –eyes that were so similar to his, but held ruthlessness and desperation far beyond his own capabilities._

_Draco, I am not asking. There is no other option for you. You will do this._

_I already gave you my answer. I will not be the one to atone for your mistakes. I am not responsible for your stupidity._

_His mother, sobbing: Draco-_

_SILENCE! The eyes widened and filled with anger as the word resonated throughout the room. _

_Draco, I am your father. You __**will **__listen to me, and you will obey. You will undertake this mission._

_He dropped his gaze to the gloved hand raising a wand. Excruciating pain shot through his body, pain beyond anything he could have imagined. His resolved crumpled with him as his body hit the floor._

_Now I will say this only once more, Draco. You will do this. Or do I have to repeat that little sensation?_

_Standing. He remembered standing –getting up. Struggling to his feet. Potestas. He could feel the power being exerted over him, could almost touch it._

_No, Father. _

_Come to the dining hall this evening. Our master will be pleased._

**xxxxx**

_Our master… _The sudden halt of the carriage drew him back from his memories. As the others unloaded, he absentmindedly rubbed his upper arm, his mouth tightening at the memory of the pain and the unwilling promise drawn from his lips. At the memory of his father's amusement and relief, the smile, the lips lovingly caressing the word "our" as it dropped from his mouth. He knew his father had been as desperate as his mother to get him to agree to this, and only Malfoy pride had prevented him from fully showing it. But he hadn't been able to hide it in his eyes. Draco glanced at the reflective surface of the carriage window. Silvery-gray eyes stared back. If he was honest with himself, it wasn't the pain that had dragged the concession from his lips, not entirely. It had been his father's eyes and the emotions he had witnessed there –emotions he had never seen in himself. Desperate to protect himself, his family, his honor and position. Wildly grasping at whatever straws he could –even offering his own son.

"Draco?" He blinked. Too many reveries to be broken out of, today. He looked down at Blaise.

"My apologies. I was reminiscing." He took his trunk and, with Blaise, walked into the castle.

"Drakie, are you all right? You look a little pale." From behind him, Pansy put her hand on his left arm, apparently concerned. The minute their skin made contact, Draco felt as if his arm was on fire –and not in the good way. He shook her hand off, angrily, impatiently.

"I'm fine," was his eloquent reply as he stalked off toward the dungeon.

**xxxxx**

As soon as Draco got to the dormitory room he threw his trunk at the base of his bed, where it made a satisfying _thunk. _Kicking off his shoes, he lay down on the sheets and crossed his arms under his head. He wished he could just fall asleep and never have to wake; never have to go through what he knew was going to be hell. But again (being honest with himself –something he was still trying to get used to), he knew he could never do that. Lightly he touched his left forearm, drew back the sleeve a little. A black skull glowered up at him, spewing a snake from its mouth, looking at him as if reading the very depths of his soul. It felt as if his master was watching him, even here in the private confines of his dormitory. He pulled the sleeve down, hard, as if shutting a door. And then he got up and prepared himself for dinner.

When he had reached the top of the dungeon steps he paused, smoothing down his shirt and running his fingers through his white-blonde hair. Composing himself. His eyes felt heavy. The buzz of student gossip was already reaching him even here, and he knew that when he entered the Great Hall he would be assaulted by hundreds of voices trying to overtake one another, competing with the clank of utensils on plates and the mastication of food. Part of him wanted to skip all that, to stay in the dormitory and feign sleep until his nightmares took him once again. But his stomach growled and the rational part of him reasoned against that plan. Shaking his head, he strode towards the Great Hall. But before he could make his usual sauntering, arrogant entrance, he bumped into someone. Stumbling slightly toward the doors, he turned, ready to take out his anger on the impudent student who had gotten in his way. But he stopped. Before him, getting to her feet and dusting off her robes, was a disgruntled, disheveled and _very _different Hermione Granger.

And for the first time in his entire life, Draco felt his jaw drop.

**xxxxx**

_Author's note: there we go. Much better than the first chapter, or so I'd like to think. You guys might want to pay attention to the timeline written at the start of every chapter because it's going to be important and I don't want you guys to be confused. The plot that's brewing in my head is a bit of a tentative and risky one, and I'm not sure if I can pull it off, but I'll do my best. In any case, please review me and tell me if anything's wrong. Please and thank you!_


	2. The First Legilimency Test

_Here is where you find out why you need to pay attention to the dates written at the start of every chapter. I'd just like to clarify that the "NOW" series is not, in fact, all happening at the exact same time. "Now" would refer to the exact moment the narrator is in, which changes on a second-to-second (and, you know, day-to-day) basis. I hope I'm not confusing anyone._

_Also, in case the time written isn't enough, I'm varying the writing style of the Now chapters. Think Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. And I'm sorry I keep explaining things. I'm just a little scared my work will be misinterpreted._

_Also, parts of this chapter were based on the childhood of Usami Akihiko in Junjou Romantica (Season2, I believe). Another something I do not own._

**xxxxx**

NOW

All I have left is a letter. A small note, the letters hurriedly scrawled, something that always makes me nervous, since her handwriting was usually so neat. The letter was pinned between the pages of my journal, but sometime during my scribbling it had fallen out. I pick it up. In the darkness of the room I can't read it, but it doesn't matter. I already know what it says. What promises it contains; promises that are now empty.

I tuck the note back in between the last page and the back cover. I'm always careful when I do this. I'm always scared that if I touch it too much it'll crumple and the only thing I have left will be lost.

I inch my chair toward the window, trying to capture the dying light before I am plunged into darkness again. The window is my last link to the outside world, literally and figuratively my only light in the darkness. I gaze out the window, at the passing clouds, the magnificent oak tree, the sun, and in my heart, as I set this quill to the paper once more, I hope with every fiber of my being that she is still there, looking out to the same sky as I am, knowing, somehow, that I am here, alive, and loving her still.

**xxxxx  
>xxxxx<strong>

SEPTEMBER 1st. 330 DAYS AGO.

Draco picked at his potatoes, still in disbelief. Around him, students gossiped and argued, and, not for the first time in his life, he wished he could cast a Silencing Charm on the whole Hall, if only to get a moment to himself. Here in this castle that was near-impossible; everywhere he went someone was there, grinding noise into him. Blaise, Pansy, Potter, Snape… There were just so many words, so many feelings, so many expectations and he couldn't escape them. Back at home he could lock himself in the storeroom on the second floor and it wouldn't matter. He would be there for hours on end, with his journals, writing and drawing and contemplating. But here, there was no escape. No sanctuary, except for that room on the seventh floor. But he couldn't always disappear to his quiet place.

He speared a potato on his fork and eyed it thoughtfully. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Granger, smiling nervously at the Gryffindor table. Mentally he kicked himself again for allowing himself to react that way. True, she was infinitely more attractive now than when he had last seen her, at the start of summer, but that was no way for the Slytherin Prince to react. It didn't matter how smooth and stylish her hair was now, or how lithe her figure had become, or how she seemed to almost _glow, _her eyes sparkling in a way he had never seen. No, it did not matter. She was a Gryffindor, a friend of Potter's, and a filthy Mudblood. She in no way deserved his (however involuntary and implied) praise.

His reverie was broken (_again? _He chastised himself. He'd been getting lost in thought so much today, it was a wonder he could come back) when an owl landed in front of him, dropped a note on his buttered vegetables, sipped from his pumpkin juice and flew off. He opened it and read the five words in his House Head's handwriting-

_Your Legilimency lessons begin tonight._

Draco crumpled the note in his fist, irritation welling up inside him. He had forgotten that his father had enlisted Snape in teaching him that stupid mind-reading art. He knew it would be useful, of course, but it was just so tedious –and why did it have to be Snape? He wondered what would happen if he skipped the lesson and locked himself in the Room of Requirement for the whole night. He sneaked a glance at Snape. As if reading his mind, Snape looked over at him and met his gaze, then tapped his wand. Probably wouldn't work.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the Potions Master, he put down his fork and got up. "I don't think I can eat any more of this. I'm going back early," he announced to the table in general. He saw Granger look up at the sudden movement in the Great Hall and quickly strode out before he could get a good look at her again.

Back in the dormitory, Draco locked the door and sank to the floor, reveling in the silence. He was thankful that Slytherins were an apathetic and private lot –he knew that if the door was locked, nobody would attempt to _Alohomora _him out of there. He stared at his trunk, at the edge of a notebook peeking out. Once again allowing himself to be completely honest (this was happening more and more lately; he'd have to check himself more often), the real reason for his reluctance to take up Legilimency was because Snape was an excellent Legilimens himself. Who knew what he could find, if he were able to probe into Draco's mind? All the feelings, the thoughts, Draco had so carefully worked at to keep locked up, to never show? He got up and pushed the journal further into his trunk. He was a Malfoy. He wouldn't allow that to happen.

After magically locking his trunk and rubbing at his face a few times (in an attempt to clear his head and calm down), he picked up his wand from the floor and made his way toward Snape's office.

**xxxxx**

"Do not give me that sullen look, Draco. It's far too reminiscent of Potter and I don't think you'd like that." Snape glowered at him from across the room. "Now, I suppose you know why you are here."

"Because my father asked me to," Draco spat, his hands curling into fists on his lap.

Snape sighed. "Honestly, Draco. Must you be so stubborn." He set down his wand on the desk and turned toward the wall. "You are here because the Dark Lord has requested you be trained in the fine art of Legilimency. It is a useful skill, particularly in the… field in which you chose to serve." He turned slightly, eyeing Draco skeptically. "_If _you become adept at this art, you may probe into the minds of the opposing side, pick out information as you wish. Since your classes allow you to interact with Potter and his friends often enough, it is to be hoped that you may be able to extract some knowledge from their minds during that period of time.

"Now," Snape continued, picking up his wand. "We will begin your lessons. Stand up." When Draco continued to stare daggers at Snape, he sighed. "I believe I asked you to _stand up." _Snape flicked his wand and Draco's legs moved of their own accord, bringing him to his feet. "Clear your mind. You must be focused. When you are ready, raise your wand and attempt to infiltrate my mind."

Draco's hand curled into a fist around his wand as he watched the Potions Master sweep over to the center of the room. Attempt to infiltrate his mind? It was very well known that Snape was an excellent Occlumens. Some even said he was adept enough to fool even the Dark Lord himself. Irritation surged through him again as he lifted his wand.

"Legilimens!"

Suddenly the office was swimming before Draco's eyes. Through the haze forming he could see Snape standing there, his eyes fixed upon Draco, watching him intently. As Draco strained to make some sort of mental contact with him he could feel barriers keeping him out, excluding him, forcing him to stay inside his own mind. Pushing him bacl. Memories flickered through his head, but they were his own. He was failing. _A Malfoy does not fail. _Snarling, he raised his wand even higher, and anger lent him strength. He could feel the barrier weakening, bending to his will. A savage grin twisted his features as he pushed in further, trying to get into Snape's head. Out of the corner of his eye he vaguely noticed Snape's eyes widen slightly, then narrow in concentration. But he paid no attention to this, focusing instead on pushing that barrier just a little more…

Not enough. With a shock the barrier snapped back into place, sending him reeling back into his own mind. Memories suddenly flooded in, clearer than they had been a few seconds ago. Draco stumbled back as they washed over him, taking him over completely…

**xxxxx**

_Hogwarts? You wish to send our child to Hogwarts? To that school? You are, of course, aware of its present headmaster?_

_Calm down, Narcissa. I am aware of Dumbledore's position at Hogwarts. But I have thought long and carefully about this and I have decided that it is our best option. And if you remember, it was my own school as well._

_But why not Durmstrang? He would be better educated in the Dark Arts there, would be surrounded with people more like him._

_He will be with his own kind in the Slytherin House. Really, Narcissa, I don't understand this objection. You are being absurd._

_I just think-_

_Enough!_

_He remembered flinching then, at the slapping sound that had followed that outburst. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop –his toy had fallen down the stairs and he had run down to pick it up. The noises of this argument had filtered through the doors and he had lingered, telling himself just a little longer, until he had become fully absorbed in listening. He heard his father call his mother something horrible and couldn't contain himself –he gasped. Footsteps suddenly approached the door and before he could run, could hide, the door flew open and those cruel gray eyes were once again staring down at him._

_I thought I told you never to come here!_

_I'm sorry, Father, I-_

_You have the gall to apologize?_

_Lucius, please, he's only a boy-_

_Silence, the both of you!_

_A wand was staring him in the face._

_I will teach you both to obey me. I am father and master in this house. You both will do as I command._

_Cruel, gray eyes. He remembered. And then suddenly he wasn't seeing anything anymore. The world had gone white, so white, and something was ringing in his head. Something loud and piercing. Screaming. Someone was screaming but he couldn't tell who, couldn't hear it properly. He was completely consumed by pain, he could know nothing else. And as it slowly subsided, he could hear sobbing. Could feel himself shaking. Could hear someone calling his name. And then that cruel voice._

_Pathetic._

_A kick to his gut._

_A Malfoy does not cry, Draco._

_The door shut in his face._

**xxxxx**

Draco came to as he stumbled into a shelf and the edge hit his hip. He winced, knowing it would bruise later on. The pain only served to further emphasize the remnants of the pain he had felt in that memory. Without looking at Snape, without a word, he picked up his wand and fled the room. He didn't even realize he was crying.


	3. A Malfoy Does Not Fail

Draco crashed into his bed, flinging the curtain shut behind him. For a moment he buried his face in the pillow, his breath heaving from his lungs, crashing out into the fabric like waves. His every exhalation was serrated and weak. _A Malfoy does not cry, Draco. _He inhaled sharply, defiantly, forcing the sobs and the tears down.

He hadn't expected that. In reality he hadn't known what to expect from Legilimency lessons. Practicing on unsuspecting students, yes. Probing into Potter's mind (Snape had informed the family of how useless an Occlumens that idiot was), definitely. But trying to force himself into someone's mind only to be thrown back, forced to relive memories he had so diligently buried? No. Not in the slightest. Draco sat up, staring at the silvery fabric of the curtains. He couldn't go back, not after that. Not after finding out that these bloody lessons would have him experiencing all those… _feelings. _He had spent years building up his walls, practicing hiding weakness, appearing apathetic and even cruel and sadistic. _A Malfoy does not cry. _No emotions, other than those acceptable in the family home –that was what he had learned from that experience.

He picked up his wand, twirled it idly in his fingers. _A Malfoy does not fail. _His father's maxims, etched into his mind from years of dictation, were surfacing, doggedly screaming themselves in his head. To not return to that room was to fail, and _a Malfoy does not fail. _He gripped his wand, the knuckles on his right hand turning white. He would break Snape's will, bend that barrier until it snapped, if it killed him to do so.

As he drifted off into sleep, he chuckled at his last thoughts. Knowing Snape, if he did manage to break those barriers, it really would kill him.

**xxxxx**

SEPTEMBER 2nd. 329 DAYS AGO.

He awoke next morning to the usual dormitory noises, but made no attempt to join his friends and go have breakfast. Instead he lay in bed, counting cracks on the ceiling, until the dormitory returned to silence. He finished counting cracks. 66, 67, 68. Only then did he swing his legs over the edge of the bed and draw back the curtain.

Light flooded him, making him squint. Judging from the sun, it was perhaps mid-morning. If he got up now he could still have some breakfast before his first class. He strode over to one of the magical windows, where a pewter pitcher stood on the ledge, gleaming in the morning sun. He poured himself some water and held the cool glass to his forehead. He sincerely hoped Snape wasn't around anymore by this time. He downed the water and left the dormitory.

A flash of brown caught his eye as he reached the entrance hall and he spared a glance. It was Granger. Her hair was put up in a messy bun, tendrils of it escaping here and there to frame her face. Even if it was only the second day of school, she already looked harried. Draco was genuinely perplexed. What on earth was there to do on the first day of school? Study in advance? He laughed to himself. That was quite funny.

A sudden movement distracted him again and he realized she had stumbled in her sleepiness. He watched as she righted herself and looked around, hoping no one had seen that. Her eyes widened as her gaze landed on him and he flashed her a trademark smirk.

"Rough night, Granger?" he shot at her, loading his voice with just a touch of lewdness. His satisfaction rose as she flushed hotly and stalked into the Great Hall, not bothering to answer his question. Chuckling openly now, he strolled into the Great Hall. It was shaping up to be a good morning.

His post had arrived already, left in the care of Blaise. A copy of the Prophet, some Swiss chocolates and cheese from his mother, a pouch of Galleons from some aunt he didn't know. The note attached was in his father's handwriting and explained that she had died (not that anyone even knew she was alive) and had left him some money in her will. He eyed the rather small pouch disdainfully and dropped it next to his hot chocolate.

Looking up at the staff table, Draco was pleased to note that Snape was no longer in his seat. He hadn't wanted a confrontation of any sort with the House Head, though he briefly wondered what the teacher thought about last night's events. He was not pleased, though, when he glanced back down at the pouch he had dropped and saw it had fallen on another note. Annoyed, he picked it up and opened it.

_You will be there again tonight._

Draco resisted the urge to rip the note into shreds. Just who did Snape think he was, bossing him around like this? Only his father had the right to do that (and the Dark Lord, he supposed), and even then, when his father's back was turned, he rolled his eyes and surrendered himself to other silly angsty juvenile acts. _A Malfoy does not fail. _He gritted his teeth. Fine. He would be there.

**xxxxx**

"You are late."

Draco glowered at the Potions Master. He wasn't _that _late. He had been held up briefly after dinner by a few snotty Gryffindors who thought it would be funny to trip him with a hex as he left the Great Hall. But he had sorted that out nicely. It had put him in a good mood until his hand was on the doorknob of Snape's office.

"I'm sorry," he said, forcing the words from between his lips. He sat down in the chair provided for students and crossed his arms. He was acting like a child, he knew it, but he derived some satisfaction from acting in such a juvenile manner. It irritated Snape, he knew. And he liked it.

"In the future, Draco, you will take care to come to these meetings at the arranged hour. You will be prompt, and you will lose the insufferable juvenile attitude you have suddenly developed. We don't want you going home and having your father think Potter has rubbed off on you," Snape said, in the same calm but sinister tones he always had. "Now. You have shown me in our first meeting that you have at least an inkling of aptitude toward the art of Legilimency. But only practice and dedication can bring forth some skill." He paused in front of Draco. "Now get up, and let us try again. And this time, refrain from the dramatics."

Draco bit back the insults he was dying to hurl at this…this…overgrown bat who was lording over him. Instead, he stood up and raised his wand. Success was the best revenge, or so he had been taught, and he was determined to succeed at Legilimency. He wanted to break into that mind, bring down that solid wall, probe into the deepest recesses of Snape's head, unearth his secrets. He would do it if it killed him.

"Legilimens!"

But anger, that had once lent him strength, was not on his side now. He was too unfocused, too distracted by the frustration he felt at seeing that mask in front of him, so much better at hiding things than he was. He could feel it, as the room began to grow hazy again. His attack had been too weak, the walls were too strong, and once again he could feel himself being pushed back into his own mind, into his own memories…

**xxxxx**

_Oh Draco, these scores are wonderful! What should we get him as a reward, Lucius? Perhaps a trip to France? It would be good for him to practice his French, you know._

_Standing. He remembered standing in the middle of the dining hall, staring at the school owl that had delivered his exam scores. His mother had opened the letter before he had come down for breakfast, and was already aflutter with nervous delight. His father, however, stood unmoved at the head of the table._

_I wonder what that Granger girl got._

_His lips tightened, his hands clenched into fists. Always, always being compared. Blaise, Potter, Granger; it was all the same._

_I don't know._

_Now, now, Lucius. Does it really matter? Draco has done well and that deserves a reward. I should ask Deidre to look up some travel plans, hotels. The south should be nice, a beach. Paris would be too crowded._

_Narcissa!_

_Suddenly the letter was gone from his mother's hand. Slowly, methodically, it was being shredded by gloved fingers, pieces falling slowly to the ground, like narrow snowflakes. He watched the pile of parchment grow at his father's feet._

_Abysmal. These scores mean nothing if that filth achieved more than you, Draco. Do you understand why?_

_Sullen silence. He didn't understand why he acted so childishly in front of his parents. It just felt good to do so._

_Draco, I asked you a question._

_He bit his lip to stop himself from pouting._

_Draco._

_A soft, dangerous voice._

_Suddenly a stinging pain erupted at his side. He clutched his ribs, gasping at the sudden throbbing. His father sheathed his wand inside his cane._

_Do you understand why?_

_Venom and velvet._

_Yes, father._

_You are a Malfoy. You are a pureblood. To score less than filth like Granger is failure, and a Malfoy does not fail._

_Yes, father._

**xxxxx**

Draco jerked out of the memory and sat down heavily in the chair. His breathing was ragged again; his throat felt constricted. Snape merely gazed at him, emotionless, waiting.

Abruptly, without so much as a goodbye, Draco stood up and for the second time in as many days, stormed out of Snape's office.

**xxxxx**

_Author's note: are you guys getting tired of Draco's angst? HAHA. If you're wondering where the Dramione is in all this, be patient. Draco has to level up in Legilimency first. I've given you snatches, random bits of Draco being who he is toward Hermione. This should change in the coming chapters. Just you wait, I'll give you a shocker. (Or at least, I'll try to.) Inventing these memories is becoming quite fun, especially when Lucius gets angry. I keep typing his name as Luscious by accident, though. It's rather funny if you think about it._

_I am sad that no one is paying attention to this story. /wrist Is the singular POV boring you or something? Are you waiting for some Dramione action? Let me knooooow._


	4. A Moment of Unexpected Hatred

_Author's note: I think it's a little weird, but I've already written the climax for this story. The document is festering away in my folders, waiting to be uploaded. And I'm excited. I just have to lead up to it. Which is making me impatient._

_I should probably just get on with the chapter._

_But before that, a special thank you to my lone, loyal reviewer and reader for that nice comment you sent me. It's good to know someone out there appreciates this story and seems to want to see more of it. You made my day, you did._

**xxxxx**

NOW.

There are scratches on the wall.

They're mine, of course. I did them. With my now-useless house keys; one for every day I've been here. I count them, like I once counted the cracks on the dormitory ceiling. The dormitory. I wonder what it's like now. I wonder if Blaise is sitting with Pansy, comforting her. I wonder how bad they feel, with me not there. I wonder what Hogwarts is like now, with me gone, the Slytherin Prince no longer striding arrogantly through the halls. I wonder many things.

I flip back through the pages of the journal. There are sketches here. There's one of her face. She's smiling, but there are bags under her eyes. She hit me when she saw I'd included them. I can remember when I drew this, surprising her with a talent she had not expected me to possess. I enjoyed that –surprising her. She was always such a know-it-all. It was satisfying to show her she did not have me "all figured out."

I don't have anything to draw now. This little sketch has lost her essence. There wasn't enough of her in it, when I drew it, because I didn't know then what I know now. I move away from it. It's painful to see.

**xxxxx  
>xxxxx<strong>

OCTOBER 10th. 290 DAYS AGO.

Draco sat idly on a ledge, looking out onto the castle grounds. It was a lazy Saturday, and most students were enjoying their day off, playing by the lake, flying up and down the pitch, practicing spells in friendly duels. Blaise had gone down with the other Slytherins for an in-house Quidditch match, to which Draco had declined, saying he had a headache. Which was completely true. All those nights with Snape, trying to break through his shield, had taxed his mind so thoroughly it exhausted him just to think about it. At least he wasn't letting it wreak havoc on his academics.

Lazily he began flicking his wand at the notebooks in front of them, making them twirl and dance through the air. By now he had gotten the hang of non-verbal spells, so Snape was now thinking of getting him to apply it to Legilimency. Draco savagely flicked his wand at the thought, causing a couple of notebooks to fly and slam into the wall across him, narrowly missing the nose of a student walking by. Books tumbled out of her arms as she gave a cry of surprise and stumbled back, and one of them skittered toward Draco. In an uncharacteristic gesture, he bent down to retrieve it. As he held it up to the student his eyes widened in shock.

It was Granger.

"Oh." She pulled back in alarm, her hand instinctively going to her pocket. This movement gave Draco a little time to look at her closely. She looked even more harried than that night he had seen her, on his way to dinner, where her hair had been all over the place and her body as tense as a rabbit's. Now her hair was a complete mess, and it looked as if it hadn't been combed (or maybe even –Merlin forbid- washed). There were bags under her eyes, which were a little red, and she was paler than usual. Her hands shook as she placed her hands on her book.

"Everything all right, Granger?" He blinked as the words fell from his mouth. Normally he wouldn't give a flobberworm to know what was going on in Granger's life (unless it would help him humiliate her), but he was curious. Everyone knew she was a workaholic and took practically every class available (except Divinations) and spent her every free moment in the library, but it was only a month into school, and she had never seemed this stressed before. He peered up at her and their eyes met and Draco could see a frantic sort of sadness there, maybe even hints of desperation.

"Not that you'd care, Malfoy." She yanked the book from him, piled it with the others and strode off. Before she had him out of earshot, however, Draco could have sworn he heard a sniffle. He frowned down at his hand, then looked up to where her robes were whipping around the corner. It was hard to control the powerful curiosity rising inside him. Picking up his notebooks, he got up and followed her.

Predictably, she led him to the library. There were few students inside -even Madame Pince was nowhere to be found. Keeping his distance and trying to appear aloof, he watched Granger make her way to a small alcove near the back of the library. Ducking between shelves, he peered at her and was surprised. He had never noticed that alcove before (why would he; he was rarely in the library willingly and usually spent most of his time there wishing he could leave). It was small but cozy, with a cushioned seat curved to fit the wall, a large window with yellow curtains, and a round table just large enough for two students. It dawned upon him that this must be where she disappeared to; this was her sanctuary. He moved closer, his curiosity aroused. He watched as she slowly lifted the books onto the table one by one, deliberately setting down each one and fiddling with it before moving on to the next. When she had finished with that, she took out a parchment and quill, but made no move to open any book, nor to begin to write. From his position some shelves away, Draco could sense her reluctance, her exhaustion. He watched as she lowered her head onto her arms, and (though it could be a trick of the light or his own imagination) her shoulders shook a little.

_When someone is at their most vulnerable, their mind will be like an open book. This is the best time to use your Legilimency skills, for they will not have strength to resist, should they notice your entry at all. _Snape's lesson from a few nights before drifted through his mind. When someone is at their most vulnerable… Surely Granger, quietly crying in a hidden alcove, was vulnerable now. He could no longer control his curiosity. His fingers itched toward his wand. Quickly looking around to check if anyone could catch him (unlikely), he crept a few steps closer to her and raised his wand.

"Legilimens," he whispered.

She did not look up from the table as the library swam before him and he entered her subconscious.

**xxxxx**

_He was in a small room, quiet and neatly furnished. A shelf stood to one side, overstuffed with books and picture frames. There was a desk under a window across him, that held a lamp, some pens and a few notebooks. It was dark outside. There was a closet nearby, closed, a red sweater on a hanger dangling from one of the handles. He felt his feet shift underneath him and touch paper, and looked down. There was a letter. As he reached for it he saw the hand that did so was much more delicate than his own, and much smaller too. As his fingers touched the paper he realized that he was in Hermione Granger's head, reliving a moment in her life. Experiencing a memory._

_He turned the paper over and over in his hands, gazing at it thoughtfully. A small red seal caught his eye and he realized he was holding a Hogwarts acceptance letter. So he was inside an 11-year-old Granger. He reread words that were as familiar to him as they were to her. He could feel her thoughts as they floated around her mind. A witch, that was what she was. That was why she could do things nobody could explain. Books disappearing and reappearing around the house, flowers growing out of season, her puppy living well past the time the vet had given him to live. A witch, with magical powers._

_Voices drifted through the slightly open bedroom door and Draco lifted his head, curiosity aroused. He could feel hesitation, doubt –but also worry. Slowly, quietly, he lowered himself to the floor and tiptoed out of the room. When he reached the landing of the stairs a few feet away, he stopped. The voices were audible now. Draco crouched at the top of the stairs, hiding in the shadows around the banister._

"_Calm down, sweetheart. Please. You might wake up Hermione."_

"_Calm down? How can you expect me to calm down? How can I be calm when I've just found out my daughter is a- is a-"_

"_Is there anything wrong with it? True, she isn't a regular human being like you or me, but it's not like she's become a completely different species. She's still our child. The only thing that's changed is that now we know how she could do-"_

"_The funny stuff. Call it by a proper name, would you. It was never funny; you only told her that to appease her. There isn't anything funny about medical textbooks disappearing then reappearing right over your head. Not about dogs who supposedly have cancer, with six months to live, but make it through ten years of healthy life."_

"_All this does is make her special. And this school, this… what was it?"_

"_Hogwarts." The way it was said, as though it was a disgusting taste. Spat out._

"_Yes, that. Hogwarts will help her. Think about it. She'll be with people like her, who can teach her how to control herself, how to use her power."_

"_If there were a school that could teach her how to stop it, that's where we should send her."_

"_Sweetheart-"_

_There was a sigh. "It's been a long night. We should just go to bed." A sound like a chair scraping a floor. A splashing sound like liquid into a glass._

"_Maybe you're right. We'll discuss this in the morning, when you aren't as tired."_

_Footsteps began to approach the stairs. Panicking, Draco ran back to the bedroom and scrambled under the covers, knocking the letter to the floor. Burrowing his face into the pillow, he feigned sleep, forcing her breathing to be slow and deep. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shape enter, walking toward her bed. Before it got there, however, it paused and bent down. Draco recognized the telltale sound of paper crackling and knew the letter was being picked up. The shape sighed, a weary sigh that spoke of many troubles. It set the paper onto the bedside table slowly, almost reluctantly. Then it bent over Granger and kissed her forehead. Inside, Draco recoiled at the touch, the display of affection he had never experienced before. The door closed behind the shape._

_Draco sat up in bed, looking at the letter on the bedside table. He could feel Granger's sadness, could feel that she was torn and hurt. She had thought this was a special thing, this letter telling her what she was and why she could do magical things. But maybe it wasn't. Emotions a little too complex for her young mind flickered in and out of her mind, and Draco felt a tear slip down her cheek. Before he could check himself he realized he felt sorry for her, for this young girl who had been so excited at this new knowledge but now doubted it, maybe even regretted it. As he lay back down his hand clenched on the sheets and he fought back the urge to cry. In those last dregs of consciousness, as he felt her slip into an uneasy sleep, he sensed another emotion too, one that confused her, but one that he could read easily._

_In that moment, Draco realized, Granger had hated herself._

**xxxxx**

Draco blinked in the sudden light as the memory ended and he slipped out of Granger's head. He put his hand up and rubbed at his temples, trying to calm himself down. Emotions swam inside him, chaotic and disturbing. For a moment, he actually pitied Granger, pitied the small girl in the bed who had hated herself for something she had no control over. The pity winked out when rationality took over and reminded him that he should not spare any pity for Mudbloods.

He looked over at Granger, who was stirring a little, and wondered if she had experienced the memory as well. The look on her face as she spotted him answered his question. She had felt his intrusion. Her face paled and she scrabbled for her wand, knocking over books in her attempt to get out of the alcove. Panicking, and not wanting a confrontation when he was mentally and emotionally exhausted, he fled.

**xxxxx**

In the dormitory, Draco flung the curtains shut and sat down on his bed, his head falling to his hands. He had never thought that Granger, whom almost everyone thought was perfect, could ever have experienced something like that. It shook him still, the hatred she had felt toward herself, however brief and confusing it had been. He had always imagined that Granger had had some happy, perfect childhood with parents who cultivated her attitude toward academics and taught her how to be a goody-two-shoes. But the memory had shown him otherwise.

And as for his own feelings… Draco could feel the pity welling up inside him again. Cursing colorfully in French under his breath, he fought to suppress it. Filthy Mudbloods did not deserve his pity. He was a Malfoy, dammit. His head felt heavy, and it throbbed until he had to press his hands to his temples in an attempt to stop the pain. With a noise of frustration, he lay down on his bed and pulled a pillow over his eyes. In his last waking moments he briefly wondered what Granger had been thinking as she realized how deeply Draco had invaded her privacy. But before his head could form any possible answers, he was asleep.


	5. Cruel Realizations

_So… how am I doing so far? People who read this story. If people even are. Probably not. HAHA. Anyway, on to the next chapter._

**xxxxx**

NOW

I still wince at the conclusions I came to, that morning after I first delved into her memory. I try to remind myself that I didn't know then what I know now, that I was different then. But it hurts just the same. I am saddened, still, by the memory that I could be so cruel.

It is dark now, but I found a candle near the door this morning, with some matches. I've never seen them in this room before, and since I have searched its every inch I know these could not have been hidden. Over and over in my head I have silently thanked whoever slipped them in. I look at the stars outside. They shine so dimly compared to this candle. I put my quill back to the paper. I should write more, before the light goes out.

**xxxxx  
>xxxxx<strong>

OCTOBER 11th, 289 DAYS AGO.

Draco woke up with a pounding headache and a rumbling stomach. From the silence in the dormitory he realized it was probably well into the morning by now. Pressing his palms to his eyes, he sorted through the haze in his mind to find out why his head felt like it was being stamped upon by an overweight rhino with human issues. He remembered the library. Yellow curtains. A mop of brown curls on the table. A memory…

Draco groaned. He remembered now. He had probed into Granger's head, perused her memories. No wonder he was so mentally exhausted. Getting nowhere with Snape had been bad enough. Actually getting into Granger's head had put a ton of mental strain on him. Rubbing at his temples, he sat up. His headache wouldn't be going away for a while, but he could at least remedy the grumbling of his stomach. Pulling back the curtains (and wincing at the brightness flooding through the window), he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. But as his hand touched the doorknob of the dormitory exit, Snape's last lesson floated through his head again and he froze.

_When someone is at their most vulnerable… _Granger, without a doubt, had been vulnerable. And it wouldn't be too hard for him to catch her in that state again. If he could pry into her mind with that kind of ease, who knew what he could find. He could probe into the deepest corners, find information closed to everyone else. Information not only for the Dark Lord, but for himself. He grinned then, a twisted sneer that (had he looked in a mirror) looked exactly like his father's. Oh, this was going to be an enjoyable assignment indeed.

When he reached the top of the stairs he looked up and once again (why exactly was her timing always this brilliant? He'd have to look into that at some point), Granger was scurrying to breakfast. Her hair was neater now, but her face was pale and her eyes looked puffy. He smirked.

"Hey Granger," he called tauntingly.

She looked up at the sound and for a moment, her expression was… Draco couldn't put a word to it. It was wild, almost manic, and there was sadness there, and maybe even desperation. But when her eyes locked onto Draco it morphed into anger. She glared hotly at him from across the room.

"Another rough night?" He sneered. "What's Weasel doing to you anyway?" He saw her fist clench in her pocket. "Ooh, Granger's getting riled up. Oh wait, that's what Weasel's supposed to say." He could see she was trembling now, trying to control her anger. He cocked an eyebrow at her, challenging. Robotically she drew her hand out of her pocket and wheeled around, marching into the Great Hall with her head held high. Chuckling to himself, Draco followed.

He watched her as she settled herself in the Gryffindor table, silently fuming. Her anger made her distracted, since she was pouring pumpkin juice into her cereal, and buttering her ham. He chuckled again as she used her wand to rectify her mistakes.

_You must remember, Draco, that desolation is not the only sign of vulnerability. Excess of emotions can signify this as well. Anger, happiness, confidence… Vulnerability is letting one's guard down. If one is distracted by anger, or overly confident in oneself, this can be used to your advantage as well._

Draco glanced around. He had heard that so clearly in his head, it was almost like Snape was talking to him. _Vulnerability is letting one's guard down. _Granger was so distracted that she probably wouldn't have enough focus to push him out of her head. Concentrating fiercely on her (the distance would make this much harder), he ignored his headache and again muttered, "Legilimens."

**xxxxx**

_I don't know about this, sweetheart._

_It'll be all right. We owled the Headmaster and he gave us very polite and detailed instructions. We'll be fine._

_Owled. You're already picking up their language. I'll just be glad when this is all over._

_It's just a simple shopping trip. Like when we'd get her other school supplies._

_Her __**normal **__school supplies. Have you seen what she needs now? This-_

_The sound of rustling paper. Grabbing noises. Or rather, silence. The silence of grabbing._

_Cauldrons, wands, potion ingredients, frogs. These are things we read to her in fairy tales! And look-_

_The sound of paper being stabbed. Stabbed. Does paper bleed ink when it's stabbed? Draco could hear Granger's thoughts as she stood outside her parents' bedroom door. She'd had a nightmare and had come here for comfort, maybe for a snuggle in her parents' bed. Instead she was hearing another argument._

_Look! She needs robes for school. __**Robes. **__I don't intend to send my child to school in something she could wear to the bath._

_But she __**is **__a witch. She would need these things. For her ma-_

_Don't mention that word in front of me. I don't want to hear it._

_You have to accept this, darling. Hermione's a witch. With magical powers. It's who she is._

_And what good will that be? What good would come out of this… this unnaturalness?_

_I… I don't know. Or I can't say. But surely something can. The headmaster said it would naturally start out with accidents, but with training it could be refined._

_Bloody headmaster._

_Look, darling. What Hermione has is special-_

_It's not. This… thing isn't normal. I wish we could stamp it out of her somehow. Make her stop._

_We already asked. Or, you asked. You know what the headmaster said. If she tries to hold it in-_

_You really believe him? Of course he'd tell us it would be detrimental to her. He __**wants **__her there. In that school of… of… freaks!_

_Draco could feel it. He couldn't help himself. He gasped, his eyes widening with horror at the noise._

_Did you hear that?_

_Muted in fear, he stumbled quickly and quietly into the shadows beside the door. It opened, hiding him. But if Granger's parents decided to come outside…_

_I could have sworn I heard something…_

_The door closed partly. The sound of something heavy landing on a bed. A weary sigh, much like the one in the previous memory. The door clicking shut and Granger sinking noiselessly to the floor, tears streaming down her face. A freak. Her hands clenched around her pajamas. She had been called a freak. Draco could feel her loneliness, her despair… and her self-hatred. But also the glimmers of something else._

**xxxxx**

Suddenly, Draco felt himself thrust out of the memory with a force that shocked him so much he nearly fell backwards off his seat. Looking up, he found Granger staring bloody murder at him, fury in her eyes. He knew it was only because of their setting that she could not hex him. He looked away, at his untouched breakfast, the droplets on the juice glass already run down, soaking through his napkin. She had felt him, this time, just in time. She had pushed him out. He fiddled with his fork, curious. What had he been about to feel? The glimmers of something… something not sad, not angry. Almost… hopeful, even.

Pushing his plate away idly, he wondered why every memory he had visited in Granger's head related to her parents, her childhood. He had to find out more. His curiosity could not be controlled, could not be suppressed. The few glimpses he had seen of her mind had him hungering for more. He had to break her somehow, get her weak again so he could look in more. And that last memory had given him an idea.


	6. Are We So Different?

_A/N._

_My apologies in the update delay. Enrolling has been a bitch, and as soon as I get home I drop off to sleep. In case you haven't noticed, I'm starting a new fic inspired by this one (both making use of memories). Feel free to check it out –The Haunting of Hermione Granger. It's quite dark, though._

_On with the chapter._

**xxxxx**

NOVEMBER 3rd, 266 DAYS AGO.

It had been hard for Draco to catch Granger alone in the castle, after that breakfast incident. It was as if she was guarding herself from him, guarding herself from another mental assault. This frustrated Draco. He had wasted nights thinking about that feeling he had only glimpsed the last time he had been inside her head, and he still couldn't figure out what it might have been. There were a thousand possible emotions. He kicked the wall beneath the sink in the boy's bathroom he stood in. He would not allow this. He was a Malfoy. Malfoys _did not _ fail.

At least his Legilimency lessons had been progressing. Nonverbal Legilimency was still a struggle for him, but with verbal Legilimency he had broken through Snape's defenses twice. Not that he'd seen anything revealing. All Snape had allowed him to see was a night of grading Potions papers (and giving half the class Ts), and answering some pointless Divination paper when Snape had been at Hogwarts. Still, it was improvement. If only he could get the hang of bloody nonverbal casting. It would be much more advantageous.

Muttering curses at whoever had invented nonverbal spells, Draco flung open the bathroom door. A squeal sounded from behind it. Shutting the door revealed that someone had been attempting to enter the girl's bathroom next door, but his abrupt exit had startled her. Once Draco recognized who it was, a sinister grin spread over his face.

He was looking into the terrified face of Hermione Granger.

She immediately backed away from him, her hand going to her wand. Too slow. He laughed and almost lazily disarmed her. She continued to back away, looking around for help. The corridor was empty; it was only midway through lunch. Most students were enjoying the food back at the Great Hall. She whimpered as he cornered her, her back against the wall.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mudblood Granger," Draco drawled, spinning her wand in his hand. Anger contorted Granger's face and before he could react, her fist made contact with his face. Grunting and stumbling backward, Malfoy dropped her wand. She grabbed it and ran. Livid, Malfoy got up.

"IMPEDIMENTA!" She was knocked off her feet, her wand skittering from her hand. She tried to get up and grab it but he beat her to it. He picked it up, keeping his wand trained to her face. "You punched my face," was his brilliant remark.

"And I've punched it before. Imagine that. The Slytherin Prince, being beaten by a Mudblood girl," she spat at him, satisfaction on her face. Draco growled, low in his throat, threatening. Despite her Gryffindor bravado, there was fear in her eyes. He knew that while she could have hexed him into oblivion with her repertoire of curses, she could only do so with her wand.

"You haven't beaten me. I just refuse to resort to such a Muggle method of fighting." He advanced on her. She backed up, her eyes never leaving his. She was brave, he noted. If only she were pureblood, she would have made a great addition to Slytherin. They could have ruled the House together. The taint in her blood was quite unfortunate.

"What do you want with me, Malfoy?" She had her teeth gritted, the words grinding out of her. He had to laugh. Oh, if only she were a Slytherin, indeed. Then he remembered the idea that had formed in his head the last time, and he grinned.

"Hm. What _do _I want?" he asked, pacing toward her slowly, a proud wolf stalking toward its prey. "Your humiliation, perhaps, or maybe information. But I think the opportunity to play with you will be enough." He paused, blinking. He sounded exactly like his pathetic father, out with his Death Eater friends, having fun with their latest victim. He had seen it once. They had brought a Mudblood witch from the Ministry back to the manor, had tortured her for an article she had published.

His hesitation had given Hermione an opportunity and she lunged at him. Unfortunately for her, his reverie hadn't lasted very long, so he was perfectly able to blast her off her feet once again. Also unfortunate was that her second attempt to physically maim him and take back her wand, in addition to thoughts of his father, had angered him further. He stormed over to where she was.

"What do you want with me?" Her voice was smaller now, more plaintive, the bravado diminishing. And then fury returning. "Just spit it out, you filthy pureblood prat."

"You are in no position to make demands from me, you Muggle-born _freak," _he snapped at her, emphasizing that last word. Just as he had anticipated, her eyes widened at the word. Her mouth opened and closed; for once she was unable to say anything. But as he looked down at her, he saw the hurt in her eyes; the pain and desolation… the self-hatred. He saw how much his words had broken her. And for the first time in his entire life, he felt something stir in the pit of his stomach –regret. Regret, and guilt for having said that. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Granger had gotten up and grabbed her wand.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, but she was already slamming the door to the girl's bathroom shut.

He made after her, but lunch had already finished and students were beginning to mill about the corridors. He stood in front of the entrances of the bathroom, as frustrated with her as he was with himself. Why should he feel guilty for what he said? She was a Mudblood, she was beneath him, so she had gotten no less than what she deserved. But the guilt was there, making muffins in his stomach. Angrily he shook his head, strode down the corridor. But before he turned the corner, he remembered the reason behind his idea in the first place. He had called her "freak" to make her vulnerable, so he could probe into her mind once more. He turned around. The corridor was filled with students. She was probably still in the bathroom –he couldn't spot her bushy head anywhere. Ducking into a shadowy alcove, he tapped his head, hoping he was remembering the spell right. A cold sensation trickled down his head, as if an ice cube was melting on top of it. He stuck his hand out into the light and realized it had worked. He was now Disillusioned. Heading back out, he slipped into the girl's bathroom behind some second year Ravenclaws.

It didn't take him long to find her. After going quietly up to each stall and pressing his ear against the door, he finally heard the sounds of her sniffling in the last one. Peering through the cracks, he saw her, her head in her hands, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. Squeezing into the corner as much as he could so he wouldn't get hit (he was invisible but he was still solid), he pointed his wand at the crack between the hinges of the stall and whispered, as quietly as he could, "Legilimens."

**xxxxx**

_Please, sweetheart. We just need to accompany her to the train station, that's all. It's just King's Cross station. Nothing unusual._

_Nothing unusual?_

_He was standing outside her parents' bedroom again, listening to them argue. Briefly, Draco wondered how many nights this had happened to her, ever since she had gotten her Hogwarts letter. The voice inside was getting increasingly hysterical._

_Nothing unusual? Oh, no, there couldn't be anything unusual about a PLATFORM NINE AND THREE QUARTERS. God, you'd think they could get at least one thing normal, even just that._

_Well you couldn't expect them to use a Muggle platform now, could you?_

_Draco could hear the frustration now, in that voice that usually was so patient and careworn. He couldn't blame the voice. Even he was irked by all the complaints, all the anger toward the wizarding world._

_**Muggle **__platform? You mean PEOPLE LIKE US? __**We're **__the Muggles, remember? The normal people? Hermione's the one with these "magical" powers, not you._

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it slipped-_

_Something slamming against something else. A tinkle of breaking glass._

_Oh god. Oh god, I'm sorry._

_It's all right, sweetheart._

_I'm sorry. I'm just… so scared. What will happen to her? What will her future be like? What will she be when she grows up?_

_Sobbing._

_I don't know, sweetheart. I don't know the answers. But we just have to trust these… wizards. This… Dumbeedome person._

_Dumbledore._

_Laughter._

_Draco had been so immersed in the conversation that he hadn't given a conscious thought to Hermione, but he did now, as he felt her feet move forward. He saw a slim hand reach up for the doorknob. He felt the hesitation. The fear. And then he turned it._

_The first thing he saw was unmistakably Hermione's father. He had Hermione's (and here Draco mentally kicked himself –he was starting to think of her in first-name basis) kind brown eyes. Hermione's mother was in a chair, a broken perfume bottle at her feet. The scent of violets was in the air, coming and going. Draco took a tentative step forward._

_Hermione? Her father stepped forward tentatively, his hand reaching toward her._

_Draco opened his mouth, a small voice coming out that did not suit him. _

_I'll be fine._

_Her mother gasped. Her father stopped, arm raised, eyes wide. Draco felt Hermione take another step into the room._

_I'll be fine, Mommy, Daddy. Really. I'll become something good when I get up. I'll learn._

_Oh, Hermione._

**xxxxx**

The memory abruptly cut off as the bathroom door slammed into Draco's face. He staggered back, biting down on his lip to stop from exclaiming. Granger stepped out of the cubicle, rubbing her eyes. Draco kept utterly still, hoping she wouldn't realize she had hit him. She hadn't. She splashed some water on her face and heaved a deep sigh. Draco watched as she exited the bathroom, leaving him alone.

He breathed deeply, heavily, struggling to calm himself. The memory had aggravated feelings and the panic had only made the chaos in him worse. Emotions swirled inside him –guilt, understanding, fear, self-hatred, pity. Guilt from hurting Granger; fear from almost getting caught; self-hatred for the feelings he should not allow to control him; and pity for this girl he thought he knew but in reality didn't. And understanding. Standing up, he allowed the revelation to wash over him. This much be why she tried so hard, why she strove so much to excel. To have something to show her parents, to prove to them that wizardry wasn't so bad, that she could have a future in it. That she wasn't a freak. Draco shuddered at that thought, at that word, then caught himself. Why was he so concerned about Granger's childhood? Or, for that matter, about Granger herself? Why were her troubles bothering him so much?

He stumbled over to the sinks, clumsily opening a faucet. Splashed water on his face, in an attempt to wake himself up, come to his senses. He did not care about Granger. He couldn't. She was a Mudblood, she was beneath him… or was she? His hands gripped the edges of the sink tightly, his knuckles white against his already pale skin. Was she so different from him? They were both just trying to prove things to their parents, struggling against expectations and standards set for them without their choice. She wanted to show her parents that magic wasn't bad and he… he wanted to prove to his father that he was worth his last name. He wanted to do something right for once. They both wanted to do something right.

"Argh!" Draco punched the wall next to the mirror, wincing as bone connected with tile. That'd bruise later. He shook his head, trying to clear the traitorous thoughts. There was no way he and Granger could be the same in anything. He was superior, no matter the grades, no matter how much the fear he had sensed in her matched the fear he himself had felt in front of his father. They _could not _be the same.

Voices outside made him look up. Someone was coming in. Quickly he moved to stand next to the door and before it closed completely he slipped out. Running to a secluded spot, he lifted the Disillusionment Charm. He leaned against the wall, ran his hands through his hair.

"We are not the same," he whispered to himself, knowing full well in his heart he was lying. Rubbing his temples, he broke into a sprint, heading for the one place he knew he could have some peace.

He skittered to a halt as soon as he passed the portrait of that stupid wizard teaching trolls to dance. Standing in front of the big blank wall, he began pacing back and forth. But Granger kept entering his thoughts, without his realizing it, and when the door appeared he yanked it open and strode inside… and nearly tripped over a curled up figure on the floor. Flailing to keep his balance, he didn't recognize the figure until it had him pinned to the wall, her wand at his throat.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy," snarled Granger as her wand dug into his skin.

"Hermione, I-"

**xxxxx**

_A/N_

_I just love cliffhangers, don't you? HAHA. Hope you're enjoying. As you can see, the Dramione has started to enter. What will Draco say? What will happen in the Room of Requirement? Next chapter to follow as soon as I can. In the meantime, feel free to check out my other fanfics! (Shameless plugging, woohoo!)_


	7. Cracks

_A/N._

_To prevent any confusion, I am resuming this story with the last two lines from the previous chapter. Thanks to the people who reviewed –made me very happy! The chapters will start getting pretty intense. I'm trying not to make this one too overwhelming, a sort of lull so everything doesn't come all at once. Be prepared for some heavy action in the next chapter though! If you think I'm going too fast or overloading, tell me through a review!_

**xxxxx**

"What are you doing here, Malfoy," snarled Granger as her wand dug into his skin.

"Hermione, I-"

"Are you not finished prying into my private life? Not done torturing me?" Draco had never seen her like this before. She looked rather demented.

"Hermione…"

"Haven't had enough of looking through my most personal memories?"

"Hermione-"

"Not tired of spying?"

"Hermione!"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?" she screamed.

"HERMIONE!" Fear and shock turned to anger, which lent him strength. He grabbed her wrists and forced her wand away from his throat. They grappled with each other, but Draco was still stronger. He pushed her away from him, drawing his own wand. Staring daggers at each other, they raised their wands.

"What do you want," Granger forced through her teeth, her wand trained on Draco's chest.

"Nothing!"

"Oh really?" She moved forward, suddenly, pushed him back, dug her nails into his skin.

"Calm down! I didn't come here for you!" He pushed back at her. She stumbled back, startled by his force.

"What?"

"I don't want anything from you. I came up here" –panting- "to have some time alone to think. I didn't know" –wincing, the pain of her blows finally catching up with him; he could feel a few scratches- "you would be here."

She didn't reply at first, but her wand dipped a few inches lower. She frowned at him, uncertainty written on her face. Draco kept his wand up, still scared of what she could do to him. But when she didn't hex him, he let himself really look at her. He studied her face, the warm brown eyes that were filled with tension, the slightly hollowed cheeks, the teeth biting down on her lip. He had never noticed it before, but she was actually somewhat… pretty. He flinched. No. She could not be. Not to him. Not to a Malfoy. Mercifully, he was distracted from these thoughts by movement on her face, and his eyes widened in surprise as she spoke.

"…you called me Hermione."

"…what?" Draco's mouth dropped open in shock, his wand falling to his side. He had? Oh Merlin, he had. It had slipped out. He shook his head, attempting to recover. "I most certainly did not," he said with as much disdain as he could muster.

"Why would you call me Hermione?" Her wand was almost completely lowered, her hand almost to her side. She was gazing at him, confused. His eyes met hers and he could see the fear still there, but also the confusion… and maybe some relief? He could feel his own anger fading, his arm faltering. He had scared her… no, he had terrified her. Prying into her memories, intruding upon her privacy… it must have been torture for her. And then his father's voice in his head –_a Malfoy feels no compassion or pity. _His arm stiffened. He bit his lip. Part of him sympathized with this girl in front of him, uncertainty in her warm brown eyes, but part of him stubbornly clung to the Malfoy maxims. He knew what it felt to be lost and confused, to want to prove something but wonder if you could ever really manage. _Are we really so different? _He looked at the scared and bewildered girl standing there. _Is she so different from me? _He knew how she felt. He knew how she was feeling. He could… he could understand her. Horrified at himself, he staggered back and Hermione (oh god, it was Hermione now, not Granger or Mudblood, but _Hermione_) reacted to his movement and raised her wand. Panicking, Draco shot a Disarming spell at her that missed, but served as a distraction. He didn't hear her call his name as he ran out of the room, ran to somewhere, anywhere, safe.

**xxxxx**

Draco ran blindly, stumbling among students, pushing some out of his way. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, pounding so loudly he was sure Hermione could still hear it. His only thought was to put as much distance between him and that… _girl _as was possible. He raced through the castle corridors, turning at random, tripping over steps and hurtling around corners. He chose a staircase at random and began to climb, desperately trying to think about anything but her. He tried to think of the next Potions assignment, Pansy's shrill voice, a new chess strategy to use against Blaise… anything but that expression on her face that seemed to mirror what he had felt so often. They could not be the same. They could not be. Draco tore at his hair in frustration. He could not allow that to happen. He did not, absolutely did not, understand that filthy little… no…

Draco burst through a wooden door and started as owls screeched and took to flight around him. He had ended up in the Owlery, which, luckily, was empty. Chest heaving, he sank down onto the straw scattered all over the floor. They could not be the same. All his life his father had taught him that he was to be superior, that anyone not of pureblood status was beneath him. _They are not like us, _Lucius had said.

"How is it possible that we feel the same way?" Draco demanded of a large, brown barn owl. The owl simply eyed him and hooted at him reproachfully.

Sighing, he drew his knees to his chest. Despite his denial, he could feel it –the small cracks starting to form in the foundations his father had set in him. _Mudbloods are beneath us, Draco. They are vermin in the wizarding world. _Were they?

Leaning against the Owlery wall, Draco closed his eyes. The day's events were starting to catch up with him, and he could feel the weariness settling into his bones. Absentmindedly he rubbed the place where she'd punched him and winced a little. That would definitely bruise later. His thoughts became less and less coherent as the gentle whooshing sounds of owls in flight and the warm sunlight began to lull him to sleep.

**xxxxx**

NOW.

The candle's dying. Already the wax has melted to less than half its original size. I know I should blow it out, preserve it, but somehow I can't bear the thought of returning to darkness. I've spent many nights in darkness, but that was when I had no other choice. Now I have this candle. I could blow it out, bring back the night. Or I could cling to it until it finally dies, goes out.

That thought makes me laugh. It's a lot like how I was, that day. I had the choice of pushing it all away, returning to the darkness of centuries of prejudice and superiority, or of clinging on to my new realization. I actually had a choice. All because of some girl I wouldn't have given two shits about before.

I'm choosing to put it out. I need sleep, at any rate. I'll keep it for tomorrow. I don't know when I'll ever get another one, if I ever will, again.

**xxxxx**

_A/N._

_I know the chapter's short, but I didn't want to throw everything at you guys. It might be a little too much. But as you can see, the Dramione's starting to creep in. Draco's already changing. Hermione's getting in through the cracks. How long before he finally stops being stubborn? Will he be able to win Hermione over? Stick around and find out!_


	8. Nightmares and Change

_A/N._

_Brace yourselves. _

**xxxxx**

NOVEMBER 3rd. 266 DAYS AGO.

_He opened his eyes and saw not the Owlery, but Malfoy Manor. He was dozing off in an armchair on the back porch. He blinked and wondered how on earth he had gotten here. But then he saw familiar lights further down the grounds and realized he was dreaming. No, not dreaming –remembering. Remembering in a dream._

_He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He knew this night was familiar but he couldn't remember why. The full moon shone down, a brilliant yellow in a midnight blue sky. In the darkness the lights across the garden were bright. They flickered in and out and Draco could see shadows, dark, shapeless masses –no, people. People moving._

_A door opened behind him and he jerked around, startled. A slender, black cane thudded down onto the porch. His eyes went from the gilded tip to the ornate, carved cobra head to the leather-gloved hand holding it. And then further up. The cold gray eyes of his father stared down at him._

_Come, Draco. It is time._

_Hesitantly, he got up. Where were they going? Time for what? Everything felt so familiar. He knew this had happened to him. But what was it he could not remember? What was so important about tonight?_

_His father led him down the grounds. Draco could only follow his hair; the rest of him was as dark as the night around them. He looked around. Fireflies flitted in and out of the bushes. The night was oddly silent. It was as if even the animals knew tonight held great significance to the residents of the Manor._

_His father ducked into the small grove of trees. Gritting his teeth at this unwanted contact with nature, Draco followed suit. He came out into a small clearing. He looked around and saw several Death Eaters already gathered there. Some were tending to a fire, some toyed with each other, casting hexes. One was struggling with something at the other side. Draco stepped forward, blinked in the sudden light, confused. Why were they all here? Why was he here?_

_The Death Eater at the other end gave a grunt and heaved something to the middle of the clearing. Draco glanced down and his eyes widened in horror. On the ground, near his feet, scratched and bound, was a young woman._

_Draco started back, crashing into a tree. He remembered. He knew what tonight was. He tried to pry his eyes away from the woman moaning on the ground, but he could not. He was fifteen again, a naïve and terrified fifteen, and he was back in the night where his father branded into his mind that Mudbloods were beneath them. That they should all be put in their rightful place._

_Look at her, Draco._

_His father's smooth voice floated on the night air toward him. Venom and velvet. The words were unnecessary. Draco could do nothing but look at her. She was older than him, but still much younger than his father. She wore the robes of someone who worked at the Ministry, but they were torn and muddied. Her light brown hair was matted and filthy, with patches of it cut short or completely shaved off. Her arms, legs and face were covered in scratches and bruises, and one of her eyes was swollen shut. She moaned again, and Draco realized she was barely conscious._

_The Death Eaters laughed._

_Look at her, Draco. She was a Ministry witch, with a rather prominent position, if I remember correctly. A silly little Muggle-born witch who wrote a silly little article for the Daily Prophet._

_His father's voice continued to filter into his mind, permeating through his skin, almost tangible in its undisguised revulsion and amusement. A silky voice, a sickeningly sweet voice, loaded with the poison of hatred._

_This silly little girl thought it would be nice to appeal to us purebloods, to implore us to stop being so narrow-minded about the wizarding race. We are all equal, she said. We are all capable of the same things. There is magic in all of us._

_The girl on the ground moaned again, and this time lifted her head. She looked around her, slowly at first, then wildly as she realized who she was with. She tried to push herself up, but her hands were bound and so she fell back to the ground. She lifted her eyes to Draco's. He could read the silent plea in them, in her brown eyes. Her red-rimmed, despairing brown eyes._

_She does not believe that a wizard or witch born from a non-magical family is beneath those who have carried their blood down for countless generations. She wishes us to accept that these intruding vermin who have done nothing to deserve such power are no different from us, who have fought for the magic that runs in our veins._

_The Death Eaters cackled, voices snapping like the flames. One of them threw a rock at the woman on the ground. She cried out in pain as it connected with her hip. Draco could not tear his eyes away._

_You see, Draco. This is the kind of filth that corrupts the minds of the magical youth. Mudbloods, Mudblood-lovers and blood traitors, they're all the same. Pests. A pestilence in our world. They do not belong here._

_One by one, the Death Eaters lifted their wands and pointed them at the struggling figure on the ground. Lucius took his time, lovingly drawing it out of his cane. The cobra head gleamed in the candlelight._

_Draw your wand, Draco._

_For the first time that night, his gaze left the woman's. He looked at his father. What was he asking…?_

_Draw your wand, boy!_

_Patience, Rookwood. Let the boy come to terms with the situation. With a slow mind such as his, he must be given time._

_More cackling, but louder now._

_The boy is weak, Lucius._

_Draco's head, which had been turning to look back at the woman, snapped up at that remark. Disappointment and hurt squeezed at his heart, only to be tempered by fury. He was not weak. He would prove it. Biting his lip, he drew his wand._

_Ah, there we go. Did I not say, Rookwood, that we only need be a little patient? Now, Draco, repeat after me. Crucio._

_The woman on the ground screamed, her back arching, her body writhing. Draco pressed against the tree, trying to get as far away from her as possible without leaving. She contorted, her face twisted in pain. His hand was shaking. He nearly dropped his wand. She quieted, still shaking. He could hear sobs._

_Draco? I said to repeat after me._

_He turned to his father, saw that the cobra-headed wand was pointed at him this time._

_Or do you need to personally experience what she will go through in order to deal the punishment unto others?_

_Shaking his head, repressing tears of revulsion, he raised his wand. Looked at the ground next to her, at the stones, at the grass. Anywhere but at her eyes._

_Say it._

_C…c…Cru…cio._

_She screamed once, shuddered, fell still._

_Not enough. Again!_

_C-Crucio!_

_She writhed, sobbing. Silenced._

_Mean it, Draco!_

_Father-_

_I command you!_

_Crucio!_

_He didn't want to, couldn't want to. But he did it anyway. All the terror and anger and revulsion and nausea sped from his heart to his wand and out and she was screaming, long and high-pitched and grating. The sound cut into his ears and chafed at his heart and bit into his skin like a snake, leaving its poison. She begged for the pain to stop, for them to kill her instead. Draco could not lift his wand. His arm was shaking but he could not move it, could not force it away from the convulsing figure in front of him, screaming his name, pleading. The scream drew out, ripping from her throat. Finally, too horrified at himself and his father and the woman, Draco wrenched his arm away. It collided with the tree behind him but he did not feel the pain. The scream was still ringing in his ears, even as the woman fell still._

_Well done, Draco._

_The boy has something in him after all._

_Of course he does, Rookwood. He is a Malfoy. Now, let us finish this._

_Wands were raised. Manic laughter sounded. All around Draco, voices cried._

_Avada Kedavra._

_He closed his eyes, but the flash of green permeated the lids. When he opened them, the brown eyes were staring at him. Devoid of life, they seemed suddenly possessed with the power to cut into his soul. Brown eyes. Dull, lifeless brown eyes. Reaching into him. Draco recoiled, stumbling back into the trees._

_Do you understand now? Mudbloods are beneath us, Draco. They are vermin in the wizarding world. They are not like us. They must be treated as such. They must be exterminated._

_Mutely, robotically, he nodded._

_Come then. The lesson is over._

_The brown eyes gazed at him, unmoving, as he left._

**xxxxx**

NOVEMBER 25th. 244 DAYS AGO.

Draco sat up in bed, breathing heavily. The darkness closed in around him, clutching at him, pulsing and pressing against him, seeking entrance into his body. He recoiled and his back hit the wall behind his bed. Groaning, he gingerly moved away, throwing his blanket aside. His body was drenched in sweat. Drawing his legs up, he rested his forehead on his knees. He realized he was shaking.

The nightmare had been plaguing him for two weeks now, ever since it had first come to him in the Owlery. He shuddered as the images replayed themselves in his mind. The fire. The woman, on the ground. Her screams. Her pleas. His father, teaching him his first Unforgivable Curse. The laughter of the Death Eaters around him. Her eyes, her brown eyes...

At the memory of her eyes, another image floated into his mind. An image of brown eyes looking up at him, hurt and fearful and sad… Hermione's eyes. Her brown eyes.

_No!_ He screamed at himself in his head. No, no, no. He had furiously tried to block her from his thoughts, gone out of his way to avoid her. The latter had been simple enough –he didn't have to read her mind to know she would not want to be around him either. But the former… she kept popping up when he least expected it. No, that was a lie. He knew when she would appear in his thoughts –during Legilimency lessons, while reading letters from his father, when the other Slytherins made jokes or rants about blood status. Her face would enter his thoughts, her eyes looking at him, her mouth opening and closing. Speaking. _Are we really so different, Draco? Are we?_

"Damnit!" he swore, punching the mattress of his bed. He had tried not to dwell on that, not to think about it. But the thought was there, festering in the back of his mind. The cracks in his father's carefully and cruelly laid foundation grew. He clutched at his head, digging into his skin. Why did he doubt the pureblood maxims now?

Unable to sleep, he got out of bed, headed to the magical window. Poured a glass of water. He gulped it down, only then realizing how thirsty he was. He poured himself another, touched the cool glass to his forehead. He drank half of it, set it down. Sat down on a nearby trunk.

_Are we really so different?_

"Damnit, Granger," he whispered, running his hands through his hair. "What are you doing to me?"


	9. Wanting

_A/N._

_Thank you, Forbidden Skies and ChaosGamer, for your lovely reviews. Together, you both are a large part of what's keeping me writing this. I hope I don't disappoint! I've already got the romantic scenes done in my head, hahaha. Stay with me! It'll be coming soon._

_Enjoy this next chapter! And brace yourselves. Here I present a side of Hermione I don't think anyone could really imagine. I apologize if the idea's too dark._

**xxxxx**

When Draco awoke later that morning, it was still early. Blue-gray light was barely peeking in through the magical windows (*), and everyone was still asleep. He sat up, rubbing his head. He hadn't gotten much rest last night, nor for many of the previous nights for that matter. Changing out of his loose, charcoal gray pants (he'd been sweating so much and tossing and turning that the heat and the clinginess of the cloth had been unbearable and he'd taken off his shirt), he slipped on his school clothes and left the dormitory.

Stepping into the dormitory, Draco noticed it was so early, the house-elves hadn't made their rounds yet, and the fire was unlit. He was grateful for the chill and the silence. Sitting down in an armchair by the fire, he stared at the ashes.

What was wrong with him? Why was he harboring these thoughts, these traitorous ideas that were mere sparks compared to the blaze of his father's dictates? Sparks, just sparks… They were only sparks… but already he could feel them snapping at his resolve, singeing his defenses, forming tiny cracks in the beliefs that had been cemented in his mind. Small sparks, but Draco knew that if he allowed her to wreak more havoc on his mind, they would eventually catch. He could not allow that to happen. He could not.

Suddenly, as if telling him something, the fire before him flared to life. Draco started at the sudden influx of light. He'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the time passing. He could hear noises from the dormitories, the early-morning sounds of people waking up. Not wishing for company at the moment, he hurried to the Great Hall for breakfast.

He had expected the hall to be empty, the hour being what it was, but he was surprised (and perhaps the tiniest bit pleased) when he saw a familiar brown head sitting at the Gryffindor table, reading a book. She was so immersed in whatever the material was that she wasn't paying attention to her spoon, which was dripping oatmeal onto her lap. From his position by the door, Draco could see a good deal of her. Her face was haggard, her eyes red and puffy, as they had been for the past three months. Her hair had grown lank and had lost its sheen. Her cheeks were hollowed slightly, as if she hadn't been eating well. She looked tired.

She moved and Draco blinked, not realizing he had been staring at her, lost in thought. He watched as she lowered down the book, set down her spoon. Fold her arms on the table and rest her head on them, like that day in the library –a day that felt so long ago. Her shoulders did not shake, but she did not move at all. Draco wondered if she had gone to sleep. She certainly seemed to need it.

The incontrollable, desperate, almost insatiable curiosity tugged at his wand arm again. Glancing around, he noted that not even the teachers were up and about yet. Slipping inside and partially hiding behind the great glass hourglasses at the back of the hall, he lifted his wand and muttered "Legilimens."

**xxxxx**

_He was walking down a deserted corridor. It was dark, and the castle was absolutely silent. Draco realized it was after curfew. His footsteps were nervous, quick, a quiet staccato in the dark, deserted corridors. He had a book bag slung over his shoulder and it was weighing him down. He hitched the strap up higher, wincing as it cut into his skin. The hand holding it was much more slender and ink-stained than his was. The feet walking were also much smaller, and clad in shoes he would never be caught dead in. He caught a glimpse of a Muggle charm bracelet beneath his sleeve. He was in her head again. Reliving her memories._

_He would have felt triumphant at this achievement had not both his mind and body been so utterly exhausted. He could sense her thoughts, floating around in front of him. Facts and theories and calculations and enchantments ran through her head, dancing a never-ending quadrille. Bloody hell, no wonder Granger could seem so haggard. From the schedule that was running through her mind, she was taking every class available to their year minus Divination. It was a freaking nightmare._

_Draco felt her footsteps slow, her chest heaving. He could feel her fatigue. Wherever she had come from, it had been a long way from here, and he wondered how much farther she had to go. Her heart was thudding in her chest and an intense pain was pounding at her head. Even Draco winced at the headache. He felt her bite at her lip, struggling to hold back tears of frustration. Stress and fear and disappointment mounted. Her arms encircled her chest, clung to her shoulder blades. It saddened him, though he didn't want to be. She was trying to do too much._

_Pushing herself from the wall, she straightened, shifting the bag on her shoulder again. He felt her shake her head, trying to stiffen her resolve. Sighing, she continued down the corridor._

_Voices suddenly came from around the next corner and she stopped, holding his breath. He could feel the familiarity registering in her mind. One of those voices was exceptionally close to her heart. She approached the corner, hesitant. He could feel the doubt tugging at her heart. Part of her didn't want to know. But her curiosity was getting the better of her. She peered around the corner and the sight stopped her heart. (Draco found this was not a pleasant feeling at all.) It was the Weasel, and he wasn't alone. Holding his hand and whispering into his ear, her other hand trailing down his shirt, was Lavender Brown._

_Anguish flooded through her and she stumbled back, pressing against the wall. Draco was shocked at this revelation. This bookworm, whose head he currently inhabited, was in love with that ginger-haired git. And if he wasn't mistaken, she'd just had her heart broken._

_She was running now, and blind, uncontrolled emotions were surging through her. Her footsteps were echoing in the empty halls but she paid them no mind. Her mind was chaos. He could feel the anxieties of so many years piling up, the disappointments, the fears, the anger, the despair and regret. Everything had piled up and tonight, tonight she had snapped. Draco could sense she was feeling hopelessly lost and just plain… hopeless. Her feet pattered up a long, winding staircase and blurred paintings and smudges of color flashed by and Draco realized she was crying. She stumbled and skinned her knee, but didn't care. She just ran on. Draco could feel the blood trickling down her leg. She was running with such wild abandon. When she reached the top she dropped her book bag and winced at the pain the motion caused. But she did not stop. She ran across the room, to the open balcony, to the place in the middle where the wall was much lower because the giant telescope should have been there but it wasn't now and she ran to it wildly and her feet caught at the foot of the low, low wall and she pitched forward and for a moment Draco felt fear as he never had before. He was scared, scared that she wouldn't catch herself in time, would plummet into the darkness below, would give in to the desperation he could feel pulsing inside her. He was scared for her. For her life. Scared that she really would allow herself to fall. And in that moment he realized he didn't want her to. He wanted her to live. He wanted her to stay._

_She didn't follow through. As she stumbled forward her hand shot out and grabbed the stones nearby and arrested her body and she broke and fell to her knees. She retched a bit into the darkness and sobbed._

**xxxxx**

Someone slammed into Draco's shoulder and he jerked out of the memory, his head colliding with the wall behind him. Stars swam in his eyes but he simply shook his head. His chest was heaving, he was panting, breaths coming out short and ragged. He looked up and saw she had done the same. She was turning around, her face pale, her expression livid. Draco's eyes widened as he realized she was looking for him. Having lost his appetite (and having no desire to be confronted in the middle of the dining hall, or be confronted at all), he turned and pushed through the throng of students coming down to breakfast. It wasn't until he stopped, a stitch forming in his side and his hair matted and sticking to his forehead, and felt a strange cold wetness sliding down his cheek, that he realized he was crying.

**xxxxx**

Draco didn't attend any of his classes that day. He passed the time hiding in the library, in that small alcove in the back. Granger didn't come there, thankfully… thought (if he were honest with himself), part of him wished she had, if only so he could explain himself. He was still shaken at what he had seen inside her head. That feeling of hopelessness had been so strong… for a few, heart-pounding moments Draco had been sure she would follow through, that she would give herself to the blackness.

And as for Draco himself… well, he had read about epiphanies in books before; sudden realizations of enormous significance that usually came at incredibly important points in time. (Or that was what he had understood.) Curling up, almost hiding, Draco pressed his forehead to his knees, incensed at himself. He couldn't lie to himself about what he had realized in that memory. The wanting had been too strong, the desperation too powerful.

He had wanted her to stay. Even if he was perfectly aware that she was alive now (and positively outraged at him as well), he had felt so scared. In that moment, before she had caught herself, arrested her fall, he had wanted to catch her. He, himself. He had wanted to save her. Try as he might to push the thoughts off, bury them deep, deny them, he couldn't. They were there, gripping him tightly. The thing in his ribcage hummed happily. He sighed. No, he couldn't lie. He had wanted it –to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her back, pull her to him, press her body against his; to hold her tight and comfort her, make her stop crying. To never let go.

He had wanted her to stay. He had wanted her. He had cared about her.

Mentally he recoiled at the thought. It was all so wrong. Everything was wrong. He wasn't supposed to care about a Mudblood. He had entered her mind with the single purpose of finding information with which to bring down the Golden Trio. Instead he had seen memories unlike anything he would have expected, memories that had made him question beliefs he had held on to for his entire life. _Were they really so different? _Draco could remember all the times he had felt the way she had, hopeless and alone and lost. But he had never been driven to such a low point, had never seriously considered… Draco shuddered. He couldn't bring himself to think about it.

A light breeze wafted in through the window behind him. The low hum of voices began to creep in, reaching even his secluded corner. Draco's eyes began to close, his head nodding. The mental and emotional exhaustion began to surface, the physical already having been present for a while. Softly, Draco folded his arms on the table and laid his head down. Too tired to try to talk himself out of his thoughts, he fell asleep.

And was woken up much later by a very violent thud and something heavy coming down on his head.

**xxxxx**

_A/N._

_Cliffhanger agaaaain, hooray! What did you think? Am I pushing things too much here, what with Hermione's latest memory? Are Draco's thoughts tickling your fangirl bones? Hope to update soon, while school isn't so crazy._

_About the (*): I don't know much about the Slytherin common room, and Chamber of Secrets only talks about the common room. So in my fic I wrote in some magical windows into the dorm. I imagine them to be like the ceiling of the Great Hall –bewitched to mimic the outside sky. Just so the dorms aren't so gloomy._

_R&R?_


	10. Counting for Something

_A/N. Hello readers! Thank you so much to those who reviewed me. Reviews are such good things to come home to after school. Because of you guys I will stop angsting about the lack of love for this fic HAHAHA. Here's the next chapter! And here's hoping I never disappoint you wonderful people._

_I'd also like to apologize for inconsistencies in my story (memory POV, how I refer to Hermione). I'm trying my best._

**xxxxx**

Draco woke with a start as something heavy came down on his head. Moaning, and blinking away the stars and the sudden light in his eyes, he slowly lifted his head. His hand gingerly touched the sort part at the back of his head and winced. He could almost feel it swelling. He felt like he'd almost been concussed.

Finally upright, he squinted at the figure shaking before him, a large red tome in her hands. He blinked, once, twice, and the stars finally went away and his vision sharpened. For a moment he simply stared at her. And then she raised the book above her head to deal another blow and he finally reacted, recoiling, terrified.

"You – stupid – arse – Draco – Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, punctuating each word with a blow from the book. Draco cowered under the onslaught, trying to shield his head with his arms. "You just – couldn't – stay out – of my head – could you – you filthy – pureblood –prat!" Squealing in frustration, she dropped the book on his head.

"Ow!" he bellowed, clutching his head. "Bloody hell, what was that for?"

"What do you think, Malfoy? Oh, maybe I just did it for fun! Or maybe I did it because a bloody little git has been sneaking his way into my head so often? I really wonder, I do." Draco retreated further, scared. He wondered if he should restrain her somehow. She looked quite manic.

"And what the bloody hell are you doing here of all places? Merlin, I come here for some peace and of all people I find you. You!" She stopped abruptly, pushing her hair out of her eyes. He studied her through the gap between his arms, judging whether she'd get another book to hurl at him. When she just stood there, fuming at him, her face red, he slowly got up and lowered his arms, watching her all the while. Which was a mistake. As soon as his arms were low enough she reached forward and slapped him.

"Owww!" he cried, throwing his hands up again. "What the bloody hell, Hermione?"

She'd been about to hit him again but when she heard her name from his lips, she stopped, her hand raised and hovering just a few inches from his face. Her mouth opened slightly, her brow furrowed. Draco fought the urge to slap himself (she'd already slapped him; that would have to do) and struggled to calm down. Trying to come up with something to say that would get him out of this and failing, he thought, _could things possibly get any worse?_

Movement caught his eye and he turned and, nearly stumbling in his haste, backed away from the sight of a very irate Madam Pince.

"What is going on here?" the librarian demanded, her nostrils flaring.

_It seems, _Draco thought wryly, _as though they can._

"The library is a place of silence," Madam Pince admonished, waving her wand threateningly at the unlikely pair. "I will not tolerate shouting in –WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THAT BOOK, BOY?" she screeched, catching sight of the red tome where it had fallen, open and with pages rumpled, on the seat.

"Madam Pince, I-"

"My apologies, my dear Madam Pince," Draco said, smoothly cutting Hermione off. Determinedly not looking at her, he went on. "I'd been reading here alone when Hermione startled me, so I dropped the book." He bowed slightly, in order to heighten his repentant air. With a wave of his wand, the pages straightened and the book flew up and landed neatly on the table. "I hadn't even noticed. But I reassure you, I will never let it happen again. I understand that the preservation and care of these wonderful books is of the utmost importance in the library and I sincerely regret my lapse in judgment." He remained bowed slightly, looking at the floor, partly to keep appearing apologetic and partly so the librarian wouldn't see his struggle to control his laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the corners of Hermione's mouth twitching as well, though whether from suppressed rage or laughter, he couldn't tell. Deciding he had been bent for an appropriate amount of time, he straightened, fighting to keep his face straight. Madam Pince eyed him suspiciously, but simply waved her wand and caused the book to zoom away to its shelf, and walked away.

Draco sighed in relief and sat down heavily on the window seat. That had been close. A stinging pain suddenly erupted at the side of his head and he bit his lip, drawing blood in his attempt not to yell and attract the attention of that owlish librarian again. He'd rather forgotten about Hermione in his relief.

"Thank you for that completely painless reminder of your presence, Granger," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Rubbing his head, he stood up again. "Now if you're done maiming me, perhaps you'd like to give me a few moments to explain myself."

"And why would I want to do that?" Hermione asked through gritted teeth. Draco looked down and saw her hand balled into a fist in her pocket. Probably gripping her wand. He stepped back a little.

"Well you did ask me before what I wanted with you. So I believe an answer is due, however late it may be," he replied, keeping his eyes on her hand. When she took it out of her pocket (and Draco was immensely relieved to see it wasn't holding her wand), his eyes shifted to her face. She was eyeing him, suspicion all over her face, and Draco couldn't blame her. After what he'd done to her, it was only a normal reaction.

While she contemplated on his offer, Draco contemplated on how he'd been reacting to her today. He knew self-preservation was a Slytherin instinct, but he could have fought back even a little. He hadn't even resisted. And when Madam Pince had showed up… he couldn't fathom why he'd done that. He'd lied for her, covered up for her… taken the blame. Normally he wouldn't even do that to a fellow Slytherin. Self-preservation and all. But he had cut through her own explanation, shifted all the blame to him. He hadn't wanted her to get in trouble. Damnit, what was this girl doing to him!

"Fine." Draco was surprised. He hadn't really expected her to agree. He'd offended her deeply, intruded upon things he'd bet his broomstick even Potty and Weasel didn't know. But he was relieved to know she'd give him a chance. As long as she didn't hit him, things would go fine. "But not here," she said, smiling slightly. "Madam Pince might reappear and hex books to chase us or something." The smile took Draco aback. He hadn't expected that. She'd been furious at him for the past three months, but now she was smiling? He didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved. Hesitating a little as she walked off, he pondered. What was he risking by following her? She couldn't do much to him without earning some nasty detention from Snape, but she _was _capable of doing something. Draco had a feeling she could even hex him and make it look like an accident. But he had a feeling she would actually listen to him. She wasn't like Potter or Weasely, who'd probably have slugged him to the ground in a fist fight instead of thwacking at him with a book, or hexed him without warning. That thought reassured him slightly. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he followed her out.

Not knowing what to expect, he was surprised, but mildly pleased, when she took him not to some deserted classroom or empty corridor, but down to the lake. It was quiet now, and cloudy. Most students had gone on to do other things, like answer homework and gossip, so the grounds were mostly empty. He was relieved, since it meant they wouldn't be seen together (they did make an incredibly odd pair), but also nervous, because no one could come to his help if she did decide to hex him. He decided (against his better instincts) to trust her. What was the worst she could do? (Not that he wanted to find out.)

She stopped in the shade of a large tree, where good-sized boulders were scattered. The rocks had dents worn into them, probably from the generations of Hogwarts students sitting there. She placed her bag down, glanced at the lake. As soon as Draco reached the spot, she rounded on him. Without so much as a preamble, she demanded, "why have you been calling me Hermione?"

Draco had been about to put his bag down, but her question caught him off guard, so he ended up dropping it on his foot instead. Hopping up and down and clutching at his foot (and mentally cursing large, heavy school books to oblivion), he looked at her. She was serious. Draco wondered how he could get out of this one. He took his time, setting down his foot, examining it as if it were a newly discovered magical creature. He couldn't exactly tell her the truth. Knowing he was spying for Voldemort would give her an excellent reason to unleash her stunning repertoire of curses on him. But he couldn't seem to find a suitable lie that she could buy. Draco had to admit it –the question had him utterly floored. He had no snappy comeback, no scathing remark. He was… lost. The great Draco Malfoy, lord of having the final say, had, well, nothing to say.

Walking over to one of the rocks nearby, he sat down, his head in his hands. He could feel Hermione watching him intently, waiting. Maybe he _could _tell the truth… just not all of it.

"I was… curious," he finally said, not looking up. When she didn't reply or curse him or throw a rock at his head, he continued. "Snape's been teaching me Legilimency as a favor to my father, and I'd wanted to try it out. Legilimency is easiest when your target is vulnerable, and that first time I saw you, well…" He peeked at her through his fingers, wondering if his next remark would trigger her fury. "That day in the library, you seemed pretty vulnerable." He paused, watching for her reaction. Her lips tightened and she folded her arms, but that was all. "And I wanted to know why."

"That doesn't answer my question," she said, her voice cold.

"I'll get to that, Granger. Don't get your panties in a twist," he said dryly, in a small attempt at normality. He could still insult her. That had to count for something. "After… after I saw what I saw… I couldn't help it. I'd never have imagined you'd had such…" He trailed off at the darkening expression on her face.

"Such?" she prompted, her lips barely moving. Draco noted her face was white, and realized she was probably suppressing anger in order to let him finish his explanation. Unbelievably, she was still putting knowledge and learning in priority, even above turning him into some loathsome, tiny creature. She was such a nerd. He almost chuckled, but caught himself. He didn't want to do anything that might put hexing him at top priority.

"Such… well…" Draco couldn't believe it. He was mumbling, stammering, unable to find the right thing to say. Usually he could control a conversation, could intimidate others with his clear, concise statements and cutting remarks. But today he was completely at a loss. "I didn't think… that those could be the reasons for your… being who you are." What the hell was he saying? "There's actually… more to you than I thought. And so… your name just slipped out," he finished lamely, looking at his shoes. Merlin, what was she doing to him? He was a mess inside, full of conflict and confusion. He had never, ever, in his entire life, felt like this before. He had to admit, it was a rather humbling experience.

She wasn't saying anything. When he finally found the courage to look up at her, he found she was staring at him, a peculiar expression on her face. He couldn't tell if it was irritation, or laughter, or confusion or… relief? But before he could look any further, she quickly looked away. She stalked over to her bag and picked it up and, after a moment's hesitation (and was he imagining it, or did her hand reach toward him, ever so slightly?), she walked off without a word. Draco sat, rooted; could only watch her walk away, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

But, when she had finally disappeared into the castle, Draco felt himself smile at the thought that she had listened to him. That had to count for something.

**xxxxx**

NOW.

I still find it amazing, how one day, one seemingly insignificant afternoon, can change so much just by happening. When I'd awoken that morning, I could never have imagined that that could have happened, between two people such as us. I still remember the joy I felt, though I'd worked hard to keep it hidden at that time. Denial is such a strange emotion. Why do we struggle so much to bury the obvious? Why refuse to acknowledge what you already know?

The candle's almost completely gone by now. There's just a stub left. I'll put it out, soon; preserve what little remains. I still have the matches; maybe I can come up with something. Scrape up dried-up wax, rebuild the candle, use paper as a wick. I'll think of something, anything, to survive.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. Okay, honestly, is this chapter weird? I'm worried I'm going into this a little fast, or that maybe it all seems too fake and forced. Please review and let me know if you don't like what I wrote. Constructive criticism will be much appreciated! (I don't bite, don't worry.) I'm only a budding writer after all. Please and thank you! Next chapter to follow soon, I hope. School's already started, though, so I'm sorry if I can't get it up as fast as you would like (since I've been updating on an almost daily basis recently). Looking forward to what you'll say!_


	11. An Awkward Conversation

_A/N. Hi guys! Thank you so much for the reviews you sent. I am incredibly grateful for your input, especially those who gave honest critiques. To the one who asked about Harry and Ron –it's like you read my mind! This next chapter was going to feature some Harry in it, since I realized after I'd posted that last one that I've barely mentioned anyone other than Draco and Hermione. I apologize for that. And also for my inconsistencies. Since it's incredibly hard for me to keep referring to Harry and friends by their last names (this being a Draco-centric fic), I'll just stick to their given names except in Draco's thoughts and speech._

_Anyway, here's the next chapter! (I can still update frequently since I don't have much homework yet.)_

**xxxxx**

DECEMBER 9th. 230 DAYS AGO.

For the past two weeks, Draco had been avoiding Hermione as much as he could. Of course he'd still see her in class, but apart from some awkward eye contact (and once, the day after their encounter, she had blushed), they didn't really pay attention to each other. It didn't feel like their usual form of ignoring, however. That was usually fueled by mutual hatred and anger, and was broken by a trading of insults or hexes. Now it felt more like an unspoken agreement not to communicate with each other because they were both confused and needed to think. It was awkward and uncertain. Draco couldn't even bring himself to offend Potter and Weasely, though the latter would sometimes make supposedly quiet remarks about him during Potions. Potter, however, had just kept quiet and smiled, and had even, on one occasion, shushed Ron. He wondered what was happening.

But today, well… Today, Draco was feeling apprehensive. He was heading to the library to do some research on his Ancient Runes homework. Normally, he wouldn't bother looking for help, but this was a particularly tricky text and he wanted to consult some textbooks to make sure his translations were correct. And the reason he was apprehensive was because the Ancient Runes section was uncomfortably close to the alcove where Hermione usually sat. Not that he'd mind seeing her; being honest (something he was doing more and more often as of late) part of him actually wanted to see her. But it would be awkward and he didn't really know what to say to her. They had parted on such vague terms the last time they had spoken that he hadn't really known what to make of it. In the end, though, he'd decided to just let it go and let things progress as they would. Which meant going to the library.

He stepped into the large room, a little hesitant and plenty nervous. There weren't many students around, though whether that was a good or a bad thing, Draco couldn't say. He slowly made his way to the Ancient Runes section, conflicted. Would she be there? Would she mind seeing him? His anxiety grew as the shelves went past, until he finally reached the section. Taking a deep breath, he turned into the section. She wasn't there. The alcove was empty. Draco felt a twinge of disappointment in his chest and kicked a nearby shelf. Why was he disappointed? It was better that she wasn't here. At least he could concentrate.

Finding the books he was looking for, he took them to the alcove. Briefly, he wondered if she might turn up later. It was still early in the afternoon; classes had just ended. He shook his head; it shouldn't matter to him. Settling into the seat, he opened the books and began to work.

A few hours of work and Draco had made good progress. He'd worked his way through roughly a third of the text, and judging from what he'd read, could guess at what the rest of it said. A flash of color made him look up and he nearly dropped the textbook he'd been studying. Harry Potter was standing awkwardly in between the shelves, looking at him.

Draco raised his eyebrows by way of greeting (and asking him what the bloody hell he was doing here), but Harry just opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and closed it again. But he didn't leave. They just stared at each other, Harry sheepish, Draco confused. What did the git want?

Finally, tired of the staring contest, Draco broke the silence and asked, "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry ran his hands through his untidy hair. "I, uhm… I was actually looking for Hermione." He looked at the ground, shuffled around a bit. It was obvious he was off-put by this conversation, and that being civil required a lot of effort. "But well, now that you're here, I'd like to, er, talk. To you." He exhaled sharply and looked at Draco, an uncomfortable but determined look in his eye.

"You want to talk to me?" Draco asked incredulously. This conversation was nothing short of bizarre. Harry not only wanted to _talk _to him, he was even being _civil _about it. What was next? An offer to be friends? Christmas presents?

"Yeah. Don't, you know, get all suspicious or anything. I just wanted to ask, er, about –Hermione." He said that last word in a rush. Draco's astonishment increased. _Hermione? _Potter came all this way to talk to him –about Hermione? "Look, I know it's a bit… weird-"

"Understatement of the century, Potter," Draco commented wryly, and Harry laughed.

"All right, it's definitely weird. But, well, she hasn't been in the best condition lately-" and here Draco snorted "-all right, fine, understatement. She's been looking something awful lately and a few days ago Ginny and I finally got it together to sit her down and talk to her, and she explained herself." Draco's eyes widened at this –how much did he know? And if he did know what had happened between Draco and Hermione, why wasn't he jumping at the opportunity to hex him? They were alone; this would be the perfect spot to do so. "But I get the feeling that she's holding something back." _Ah, _thought Draco. _So that's why. _"And since she sort of mentioned you, and you two have been acting weird lately" _(I've got to give Potter some credit for his observation, _Draco noted) "I thought you might be able to tell me something.

"Don't get the wrong idea, though," Harry continued, taking a few steps closer but not sitting down. Draco didn't blame him. This situation was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute. "I just –I care about Hermione. She's one of my best friends. And if something's bothering her, then I'd want to find out." He looked at Draco, hard, and Draco realized he wouldn't be able to wriggle out of this confrontation somehow. He closed the textbook slowly, pushed it away.

"So do you know anything? About what's bothering her?" Harry pressed, concern in his eyes. There wasn't any animosity or any hidden motive to this, Draco knew. He just wanted to know.

"Have you tried asking her about Weasely?"

"Ron?" Harry asked, taken aback. Draco was, too. He didn't know why he'd answered that of all things. _Though, _he thought, _if I told him what I'd done, this level of civility would probably disappear in an instant. _"So this has nothing to do with you?"

That question caught Draco off guard. "Me?" he asked, for lack of anything better to say. _I've got to give Potter credit. He's smarter than I thought he was. Though, _and Draco almost smiled, _I usually don't make him out to be very smart, on account of who he is._

"Yeah. I mean…" Harry trailed off, looking away, at the shelves. "You two _have _been acting strangely. She's so jumpy when you're around, and you haven't insulted any of us in days. And it's as if both of you agreed not to look at each other. So I just thought, you know…" he trailed off again.

"If she doesn't want to talk about it, Potter, then I don't think it's my place to tell you anything either." Draco pulled the textbook toward him, desperate to get out of this bizarre conversation somehow. Probably getting the message, Harry stood up and walked off. Draco felt a tug somewhere in his gut and before he could check himself, called after Harry, "make sure you ask her about that Weasel, Potter." Harry turned around, surprised. "You know… just in case." Harry hesitated, then nodded.

Draco returned to his Ancient Runes text, but his concentration had been broken. Why had he helped Potter? True, he hadn't said anything to implicate himself, but he hadn't _lied _either. That Weasel git _did _have something to do with Hermione's current state (_Granger, _damnit!). He wondered what Hermione's (_bloody hell_) reaction would be when Potter asked her about Weasel. He blinked, feeling as if he'd been slapped. Bloody hell. What if she figured out that it had been him who'd tipped Potter off? She was clever, he wouldn't put it past her to do so. The urge to do homework left him. He decided to retreat to the Slytherin dormitory, for his own safety.

He almost regretted that decision, however, when he entered the raucous, crowded common room. It was like the whole House was there. Pansy was with her girl friends in one corner, gossiping. Crabbe and Goyle were wrestling on the rug, with many of the Slytherin boys gathered around them, cheering and placing bets. A few others were playing wizard's chess or just talking. Draco picked his way through the chaos, trying not to show his displeasure. His Housemates were acting like… like animals_. _It was all so plebeian. He was grateful when he reached the silence of his dormitory. To his surprise, he found Blaise lying on his bed, reading a book.

"What are you doing here, Zabini?" Draco asked, sitting down on his bed across Blaise's.

"Escaping the jungle downstairs," Blaise replied, not looking up from his book. Draco laughed and lay back on his bed. Somehow, the momentary peace wasn't as relieving as he thought it would be. In moments like these, where there was nothing to preoccupy him, his mind tended to wander back to Hermione. He'd wonder if she was doing okay, if she hated him even more now, or if she even thought about him at all. He always tried to block her out, but her face kept popping up, catching him off guard. _Are we so different? _He was doubting it less and less. Sighing, he crossed his arms over his head. This whole business was so confusing. He almost regretted entering her head in the first place… but just almost. For some reason he couldn't explain, he was actually (just maybe) a little thankful for this newfound understanding. He couldn't quite get why. He just was.

"Come on, Draco," Blaise said, interrupting Draco's perplexed state. "I sense that it's feeding time down at the zoo." He and Draco laughed at that, and in companionable silence, descended into the "jungle" to try and make their way to dinner.

**xxxxx**

Afterward, Draco was considerably cheered up and relaxed. Blaise's conversation had proved sufficient distraction from the thoughts that were plaguing his mind, and Pansy had even been somewhat quiet. No unsubtle flirtations, no unwanted simpering; just regular conversation between three childhood friends. (*) But Draco hadn't had much of an appetite, so he'd left the hall early, while Pansy and Blaise worked their way through dessert. Deciding against returning to the dormitory right away (who knew what chaos would turn up there next), Draco returned to the library to check out an Ancient Runes textbook so he could read work on his homework in the dorm tonight.

He made his way through the shelves, replaying bits of the conversations in his mind, chuckling when he remembered funny remarks. He hadn't felt this relaxed in a while. Usually he was tense from schoolwork, or from not thinking about Hermione. He resolved to spend a bit more time with his friends. It seemed to do him good.

Draco was so lost in his thoughts that when he reached the Ancient Runes section, he didn't notice the figure sitting in the small alcove nearby. As he reached up for the textbook he wanted, he didn't notice the figure stir. And as he brought it down to skim through it a bit, his mind on a particularly funny comment from Blaise about Snape's uncanny resemblance to a great big flapping bat, he did not notice it get up and come to him. In fact, he didn't notice it at all until it had its hand clamped down on his wrist.

"Ow!" Draco nearly dropped the ancient tome on his foot. He winced at the pain that shot through his arm, but the grip on his wrist did not loosen. Instead, Hermione (for it was she) dragged him to the alcove (probably so that Madam Pince wouldn't see them), Draco stumbling in his attempts to keep up. She let go of his wrist and whirled around to face him.

"Did you tell Harry?" she demanded, her wand pointing straight at his heart.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. Aaaaand there you go! A bit of a lull chapter, I know, but the next one or so (if I go the way I've planned) will be filled with Dramione goodness (I hope). Fingers crossed that I can update soon! The weekend's coming up anyway, so at the latest I'll have the next chapter up by Sunday or Monday (I don't have class –yay!). As always, reviews will be appreciated, especially since two characters suddenly have a bit more spotlight time in the story._

_About the (*) – from what I remember from my Harry Potter books (I don't have time to reread them all and check), not a lot is said about Draco's childhood. So I'm just going to go ahead and put in that Pansy, Draco and Blaise were all childhood friends. You can kinda see it, anyway. They're all from pureblood families so I guess it makes sense? Haha._

_Until the next chapter, then!_


	12. Questions and Small Confessions

_A/N. I keep putting Draco in deep doodoo, don't I? Haha! But here we go. The beginning of the budding romance. Ready your pillows because in the next few chapters, we're gonna see Draco for the closet romantic he is! Hehehe. Yeah okay I should stop spoiling the chapters for you guys. I bet you hate me for it._

_I think I'll just shut up and let you guys read now._

**xxxxx**

"Did you tell Harry?" she demanded, her wand pointing straight at his heart.

"Tell Potter what?" Draco asked, totally bewildered. He backed up, trying to get away from her wand, but collided with a shelf. He thought of making a run for it, but he didn't think he'd get very far before she hexed him. Though by the look of her, she might tackle him, not hex him.

"Before dinner, Harry pulled me aside and asked me if Ron had anything to do with my 'recent state of depression.' Now I have never, ever told anyone about what I've seen of him, but I know that you," she said, jabbing him with her wand, causing him to wince "have been snooping around so _did you tell him?"_

Draco's eyes widened. So _that _was what she was asking. He had expected Hermione to figure it out, but he was still shocked by her reaction. It was so much more vehement that he could have imagined. Her eyes were filled with fury, her face pale, with red splotches on her cheeks. She was visibly shaking. "I didn't tell him anything."

"Why should I believe you?" she shot back.

"Why would I tell Potter anything?"

"How should I know? You could have your reasons!"

"I don't bloody well have reasons for telling him how you feel about Weasel!"

"Oh, you-" She pushed him, the shelf connecting painfully with his shoulder blade. "That wasn't any of your business! Nothing about me is any of your business. And you have no right at all to be telling people about my innermost secrets, you rotten little ferret!" Her voice was strangled. It was obvious she was trying not to draw attention to them by screaming, but she wanted to.

"I didn't-"

"What did you tell Harry?

"I didn't tell him anything!" Draco hadn't meant to yell, but he was angry now. Disregarding the fact that she could jinx him in a second, or that Madam Pince could swoop down and ban them from the library, he grabbed her wrists, commanding her attention. She opened and closed her mouth wordlessly, her fury having reached the point of silence. He gripped her wrists until she finally twisted them out of his hands and crossed her arms, glaring at him. Draco inhaled deeply, trying to find the words to explain. "I didn't tell Potter."

"Then how did he-"

"Let me finish!" he snapped. He let her go, absentmindedly rubbed at the spot near his shoulder where she had poked him. These arguments were happening quite frequently, and they always started out the same way. Draco sighed. "I didn't tell Potter what I saw. He… he came here earlier today, looking for you, but found me here instead. He wanted to talk to me-" Hermione snorted. "I know, I didn't believe it any more than you do, but he did. He just asked me if I knew anything about what was bothering you and, well, it slipped out. Nothing specific, of course."

"What slipped out?" she asked, her eyebrows arched menacingly.

"I just told him to ask the Weasel." When she continued to look at him with her eyebrows raised, he lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. "Honestly. I told him it wasn't my place to divulge information you wouldn't, but he could try asking you about that prat."

"Hmph." She continued to eye him suspiciously, but Draco could sense she believed him, even just a little. Or at any rate, she didn't _disbelieve _his story. He was relieved. She turned to leave, but then hesitated. "Hold on. You actually told Harry that?"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, confused.

"You told Harry that you wouldn't tell him anything I hadn't already and that he should ask me about Ron?"

"Er… yes?" He didn't know where this was going, but it didn't seem to be heading anywhere good, at least for him.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you tell him that?"

Draco blinked at her for a few seconds, momentarily at a loss for words. He still hadn't quite figured out why he'd helped Potter. Usually he would avoid doing anything that would be of help to Potter or his friends, but this time he had done so, and willingly at that. Before his mind could stop it, that thing in his ribcage answered for him. "I was… worried. About you." She stared up at him, stunned. Draco couldn't blame her; he wanted to slap himself quite badly. But the words just kept coming. "You've seemed so down lately so I… thought telling him might help."

She stared at him for what felt like forever. Draco couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from her brown ones. Her expression changed; she went from looking like she would murder him to looking like she didn't really know what to do to him. "You were… worried?"

Draco could only nod.

"About _me?"_

Again, he simply nodded.

"Why would you worry about me?"

Draco hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "It's just… after seeing your memories, I can't help but think about you… differently. Think that maybe you're, er, not what I… thought," he finished lamely, half-shrugging.

She looked at him, opened and closed her mouth a few more times, apparently unable to think of a reply. Finally, she simply picked up her bag, and with one last, puzzled look at him, left.

Draco watcher her go, then sat down heavily, completely befuddled. Had he really just admitted to _Granger _that he had been _worried _about her? That he had actually wanted to help? What the bloody hell had just happened to him? He was Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, and a Death Eater. He wasn't supposed to care about Mudbloods. But like it or not, he did. He really had been genuinely worried, after that last memory, after wanting to save her.

_Are we so different? _Draco had asked himself that question again and again, each time coming up with an answer he hated but could not contest. No, they were not so different at all. Despite everything his father had taught him, had tried to carve into the very essence of his being, he was beginning to see that his so-called purer blood and lineage did not make him so superior to Granger at all. She was just as capable as he was, just as smart, just as conflicted. In some ways (though it killed him to admit), she was even better than him. The fact that she had Muggle parentage did not make her any less magical than him, nor did it make her any less of a witch.

He wondered what she had felt, all these years at Hogwarts, looked down on from both sides –from students at school, for being a Muggle-born, and from home, for being a witch. Did it anger her? Sadden her? Or had she finally stopped caring? And what about himself? Could he really respect her now? Was he still fighting to prove to his father that he was capable of living up to his every expectation? Did he still want to, knowing what he did now?

Draco groaned. There were so many questions he didn't have the answers to. His head hurt. He got up, deciding to simply head back to the Slytherin House to sleep this all off. As he did, his foot brushed against a notebook on the floor. He picked it up, opened it. Inside were lines and lines of neatly written Charms notes. The handwriting was feminine, and the notes were very detailed. In fact, they rivaled his own. It dawned on him that this must be Granger's notebook. He peered around the wall, glanced around the library. It was deserted. No doubt it was quite late. He'd have to return it tomorrow. The notebook weighed heavily in his hand, and the thought of having to speak to her tomorrow weighed heavily on his mind. It would at least give him the chance to apologize, if she would listen to him at all. Things had been so confusing between them these past few weeks that Draco didn't know what to expect anymore.

Slipping out of the library, (mercifully it was still a little before curfew) he headed back to the dormitory, his mind full of thoughts he didn't like at all.

**xxxxx**

"Watch it, mate."

Draco jerked to a halt, his nose inches away from the post of his bed. Blaise chuckled on the bed near his, looking up from the book he'd been reading. Draco blinked and frowned down at his friend.

"Is that any way to thank the person who just saved your nose from potential deformation?" Blaise asked, hiding his laughter behind his book. When Draco continued to glare at him, he rolled his eyes and added, "Well at least I know the ladies will be grateful. Maybe they'll date me to pay me back for managing to preserve the great Draco Malfoy's good looks." Draco chucked a sock at him, grinning despite himself.

"Seriously though, Draco." Blaise sat up and looked at Draco with concern. "What's going on with you? You're always so distracted these days, and you keep disappearing to who-knows-where. Are you hiding a girl from me or something? Because we don't do that." Draco could tell his friend was trying to lighten his question a little, but there was worry in Blaise's eyes and it made him feel a little better. For all his failings (particularly his vanity, Draco chuckled to himself), Blaise was a good friend. Draco didn't like lying to him. But he had to. How could he explain to his pure-blood friend that he was beginning to question the ideals they had held on to for their whole lives? How could he tell Blaise that he was starting to think that people like Granger weren't so different from them after all? Where would he even begin?

In the end, Draco simply shrugged and gave his friend a half-smile. He and Blaise had never been big on sharing their feelings, though they did tell each other a good deal. This time, the situation was just too complicated for Draco to be able to share. Slytherins don't make many real friends, and Draco didn't want to lose one of the few he had, especially not one as good as Blaise. His friend regarded him skeptically, but thankfully didn't press the issue and returned to his book. Draco kicked off his shoes and, lying down, drew the curtains around his bed shut.

He knew that he'd have to tell Blaise eventually. This wasn't something he could keep secret, not for long. He could be careful, could watch his words and actions, could put up a front, but sooner or later he'd slip, or he just wouldn't be able to keep lying. But tonight… Tonight he wanted a break from the chaos running through his head. He just wanted to sleep, and hope that tomorrow might be better for him.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. This chapter is weird. I'm not entirely happy with it, and I'm not sure if any of you will be, either. I kind of had to force it out of me. I've been feeling so uninspired lately; it's unsettling. I may edit this chapter if I feel the need to. Tell me what you think, as well, so I'll know which parts were particularly unsatisfying. I'll also try to not be so repetitive with the whole Draco-not-meaning-to-do-something-bad-but-getting-into-trouble-anyway theme, meaning when he returns Hermione's notebook, I'll try to make things nice for him. I promise, the romance is coming soon!_

_Are you guys annoyed with me yet? Have you given up on my story because it's starting to suck? R&R!_


	13. Changes in Conversation

_A/N. Since I can't sleep, I'm writing the next chapter, yay! Again, I apologize for my inconsistencies. Feel free to point out my errors._

_While I'm still on the A/N, I wonder –do you guys want Draco and Hermione to shag, or no?_

**xxxxx**

DECEMBER 10th. 229 DAYS AGO.

Draco awoke that morning feeling a lot better than when he'd gone to sleep last night. He hadn't dreamt, hadn't woken up in the middle of the night to strange thoughts. Stretching, he sat up and blinked a few times. The dread didn't set in until he got out of bed and saw the notebook on his bedside table.

"Fuck," he breathed, the events of last night coming back to him. For a moment he considered not returning the notebook. No, that wouldn't work. She needed this. Maybe he could give it through someone else? That wouldn't work either. He'd only draw attention to himself, asking someone to give something to Granger. They'd wonder why he'd want to return something. No choice, then. He slipped on a cloak (it was getting colder by the day) and made his way to breakfast.

It wasn't until he got to the entrance hall that he realized how early it still was. The house-elves had already made their rounds, but most students weren't awake yet, or at least, weren't eating breakfast. A few students were scattered around the Great Hall and the staff table was empty. Draco looked around and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he spotted her at the very end of the Gryffindor table. Again, he hesitated, contemplating on backing out. But the urge to apologize and explain was too much for him to overcome, and with uncharacteristic determination (he'd normally take the easy way out), he made his way over to her.

She appeared to be fascinated by her oatmeal as he approached, since she didn't look up once, though his nervous footsteps echoed in the rather quiet hall. Awkwardly, he stood in front of her, not really knowing what to do. Should he just leave the book? Greet her good morning? Barge into an explanation before she had the chance to hex him away? For a moment he simply watched her eat. What was wrong with him? He'd never been this nervous around a girl before.

"I, er, found this notebook last night and, uhm, it might be yours," he finally said, holding the notebook out a little. His arm hung in the air, uncomfortably, as she continued to ignore him, chewing her breakfast thoughtfully. Just when he was about to give up and go have his own breakfast, she finished the last bite and looked up at him. Draco was relieved to see no animosity in her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, simply, smiling up at him. "Would you join me for breakfast?"

Draco was taken aback by her offer. What could she possibly want? "It would be rather odd of me to be sitting at the Gryffindor table, don't you think, Granger? Seeing as I _am _a Slytherin. And would be sitting with you, no less." He nodded in her general direction. She smirked a bit at that.

"Hardly anyone's awake, anyway, and none of the staff are around to be suspicious. Besides, I'd like to speak with you." She gestured at the seat across her. "Please?" she added, which surprised Draco even more. He sat down, a little reluctantly. Her smile didn't reassure him much, either. This whole situation was bizarre.

"I'd like to apologize for how I acted last night. I'll admit, I didn't have all the facts, and I was unnecessarily harsh," she said, passing him some toast. Draco accepted it graciously, wondering if anything could make this any stranger. Hermione Granger was passing him some toast. "I'm still a little shaken, though," she continued, looking embarrassed.

"Hermione Granger admitting she didn't know everything. Who would have known this day would come." He wasn't sure what this was –this lighthearted banter between them that felt so strange compared to the insults and sarcastic remarks they'd often traded before. She was actually being civil to him. He wondered what had happened to her. Not that he didn't welcome the change. It was a relief to not have her yelling at him.

"Very funny" she said, laughing. Draco was struck by this. He'd actually made her laugh, and not by doing something stupid _(or having something stupid done to me, _he thought, remembering Professor Moody). He was shocked to find that this experience was not at all unpleasant. "But being serious now. I really am sorry. Harry told me, last night, what went on between the two of you. And, well, I'd like to thank you." She was looking at her empty bowl now. "For telling him what you did, and for withholding what you did as well."

Draco had to smile at that. "It was the least I could do, after what I'd done to you." He inclined his head, as his mother had told him to do. Students began to file into the hall, and not wanting either of them to be questioned about the present circumstances, he stood up. "Well… goodbye," he said, awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

"Goodbye," she replied, as uncertain as he was, if anything. With a quick nod, Draco made his way to the Slytherin table. He didn't notice the astonished looks on Harry's and Ginny's faces as he walked past them.

"Did you just come from the Gryffindor table?" Blaise asked incredulously as Draco sat down. Wanting time to compose his answer, Draco helped himself to eggs and a blueberry muffin first.

"Yes, I did." His reply was curt, in the hopes that Blaise would drop the subject. His friend seemed much too appalled to take a hint, though.

"What on earth could you want with those prats?"

Draco decided honesty would be the best policy to get Blaise to shut up, as long as he wasn't _completely honest. _"I was returning something."

"To whom?"

"Granger." Draco found the expression on Blaise's face rather amusing. He hadn't thought it possible for his friend to look more shocked than he had, but it appeared that he was wrong.

"Granger? What in Merlin's name could you have to do with that Mudblood?" Blaise looked utterly flabbergasted. It was taking every ounce of Draco's self-control not to laugh.

"Like I said, I was returning something."

"You didn't shag her, did you?" Blaise asked, looking like he might puke.

"Merlin, no, I wouldn't touch her like that for all of Gringotts. I'd just found something of hers and decided to give it back." Draco nonchalantly reached for the orange juice, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

"A little out of character for you, don't you think? Or are you up to something?" His friend's eyes suddenly narrowed.

"I might be." Draco dodged the question. Blaise eyed his suspiciously, but dropped the interrogation when Draco raised his eyebrows at him. In truth, Draco was already nursing an idea. If Granger just kept up her civil attitude toward him, he could try and use it to learn more about her. For curiosity's sake, of course.

Breakfast continued without further disturbance, though Blaise did look at Draco with a curious expression every once in a while. Draco was careful to keep his face impassive. Their morning classes passed without incident as well, and when lunch rolled around, Draco suddenly found himself with quite a lot of time. Professor Flitwick had sent word that he wouldn't be able to hold classes that afternoon (something about an accident in a second-year class), and since Charms was Draco's final class that day, he had nothing to do. He remembered the Ancient Runes text he'd started translating yesterday, and decided that it would at least pass the time. He returned to the Slytherin dormitory to work.

It became clear, however, when he opened his trunk, that he wouldn't be able to work in the comfort of the common room, because he'd forgotten to check out the book he needed. Understandable, of course, considering last night's events, but unfortunate in light of today's circumstances. Draco sighed, and gathered his things. Hopefully Granger wasn't at the library today.

Much to his dismay (and a little to his delight), she was there in her usual alcove, working on a paper. The books around her looked a little familiar, and Draco realized she, too, was working on Ancient Runes. Now was as bad a time as any to start on his idea, and so he strode over to her, a strange feeling in his gut. If he weren't determinedly not thinking about it, he might have admitted that it slightly resembled something fluttering.

"May I join you?" he asked, gesturing to the space across her. She looked up, startled.

"Oh!" She looked quite confused, and for a moment Draco thought she was going to refuse, and something in his ribcage thudded wildly. "I, er, suppose you could." She smiled hesitantly, and Draco returned it in kind, settling into the seat. An awkward silence passed between them as she tried to resume her work and he tried to start his. While she went directly back to her attempts at translation, Draco found himself distracted by her actions. She had a strand of hair in her mouth, though she didn't chew it. Her brow furrowed when she was stuck, smoothed over when she figured it out. Her face was very expressive. She bit her lip often, and sometimes mumbled to herself. If Draco weren't so dead set against caring for her more than he did now, he might have found the whole picture rather endearing.

"Which text are you translating?" he inquired quietly, breaking the silence between them. She'd seemed to be struggling for a while, going back and forth between a section of text and a chapter in a book. He himself had managed to finish another third of his text, though the final portion was proving to be quite difficult. This was going to take more work than he'd thought.

She gazed at him as if she'd forgotten he was even there. She wore a slightly dazed expression. "Oh. It's, uhm, Gattsworth's treatise on the Draught of Living Death. The section where he discusses the potion's potential and argues that it would be useful in the field of medicine…"

"…for putting patients to sleep," Draco finished. "We're translating the same text, though I'm on a different section. Mine's mostly about the creation process and the background of the ingredients."

"Oh." An awkward silence lapsed between them again, and Draco, distracted by the warmth coming through the window and the faint scent of lemon in the air (where could it be coming from?), began to doodle. He started out small, with caricatures of teachers and a drawing of his quill. But as his boredom increased (along with his reluctance to return to work), the drawings grew more detailed. He was in the middle of a sketch of the tree down by the lake when Hermione interrupted him.

"You can draw?" He looked up, a little dazed, since he'd been so focused on his sketch. There was disbelief on her face, and surprise, but also delight. For some reason, his head felt a little fuzzy when he looked at her.

"No, Granger, my quill is magic. It can sketch masterpieces. All I need to do is hold it." And then, seeing her unamused expression, he added, "Yes, I can draw. Is it that surprising?"

"Not really. I just didn't think you were capable of something so…" She trailed off, obviously embarrassed.

"Artistic?" he supplied, trying to hold back a smirk. He still wasn't used to their being anywhere near friendly, and he was (surprisingly) enjoying it, so he didn't want to do anything that might antagonize her.

"That would work," she laughed.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Granger," he replied, smiling wryly. His smile faded, though, with the peculiar expression on her face. "What?"

"Why are you being nice to me?" she asked, looking directly at him.

Draco blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. "Why are _you_ being nice to _me?" _he countered, for lack of a better reply. He was moderately surprised (and somewhat pleased) when she was unable to reply.

"I don't know," she finally answered, looking at the table. The confusion in her voice struck him. He wondered if she'd spent the past few weeks in as much torment as he had, if she'd been asking herself the same questions. She seemed just as lost as he was. _Are we so different? _Here she was again, proving they weren't. Showing him they could feel the same way.

"I should probably head back to the common room. My friends will be looking for me." That was a lie; Pansy was probably gossiping away with the other girls in her social circle, and Blaise could find his own forms of entertainment. But the setup suddenly felt incredibly claustrophobic, and for some reason Draco was panicking slightly. Maybe it was the expression on her face that he'd glimpsed before she ducked her head, when she'd answered his question. Or maybe it was his own attitude toward her that was starting to make him apprehensive. Four months ago he'd been making lewd remarks about her appearance, and now he was actually being nice to her. The change was alarming. Before she could protest or agree, he nodded at her. "Goodbye." He shouldered his bag and hurried out of the library.

A few corridors away, Draco stopped, a little out of breath. He had no idea why he'd reacted in that way, but he'd felt the need to get away from her. He still didn't quite understand what she'd done to him, how she'd changed him so much in so little time, and without even really doing so directly. It had been prying into her memories that had brought upon this alteration in him. _Damnit, _he cursed in his head, following up with a few colorful French phrases. What was she doing to him?

"Draco?" A voice made him look up and he nearly jumped. Snape was standing in front of him, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he answered, almost before the teacher had finished his question. "No, Sir," he remedied, catching the flash of displeasure in Snape's eyes. He'd been startled so much (and had already been jumpy to begin with), he'd forgotten his normally sulky attitude toward Snape.

"Then if you have the time, perhaps you might like to join me in my office later." When Draco simply stood there, a confused expression on his face, Snape continued in a slightly exasperated tone. "Your Legilimency, Draco. You may have gotten the knack of it by now, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't _practice. _My office, nine o'clock." And with that, Snape swept off.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter! I'm glad you guys are enjoying the fic. Draco and Hermione are acting a little flirtatious now, don't you think? And what could Draco see next in his Legilimency lesson with Snape? Stick around to find out! (Really, please do. I love you guys for loving my story and it would kill me to lose you.) As always, R&R is appreciated!_


	14. Snapped

_A/N. I love the reviews you guys have given me. It makes me so happy, knowing you guys really like what I write. I hope I never disappoint you wonderful people. :D_

_Shameless plug –read my other stories HAHAHA. My other ongoing fic is The Haunting of Hermione Granger._

_Chapter time now._

**xxxxx**

Draco stood outside Professor Snape's door, looking apprehensively at the doorknob. He knew his Legilimency lessons were not yet officially over, though they had been having them less and less. He wondered why Snape had suddenly decided to tell him personally, and why he had emphasized the word "practice." He wondered if Snape had heard or seen something about what he'd done to Hermione. He wondered a lot of things. Finally, knowing it was inevitable, he opened the door and stepped inside. Snape was nowhere to be seen. Draco hesitated, then sat down. Perhaps the Potions Master had forgotten?

"I see you have managed to make it on time tonight, Draco. Perhaps Potter's sullen attitude isn't rubbing off on you after all." Draco jumped as Snape suddenly emerged from an alcove off to the side. "Now, before we start, your father would like me to discuss something with you."

"My father?" Draco blinked. He hadn't known his father had been in correspondence with Snape. His father had barely written to _him_ during the school year. "What does my father want?"

"Your father," Snape said, idly running his fingers over the potion bottles lining the shelves of his office, "would like to know if you have been putting your Legilimency lessons to good use. If you recall, at the beginning of your lessons, we discussed that you would use them to infiltrate the minds of Potter, Weasely, Granger, and any of their friends, in order to retrieve useful information. Thus far, you have not reported anything. Lucius has asked me remind you of your mission here at Hogwarts, and how there is much at stake, especially if you should… fail." Snape eyed Draco with obvious disdain.

"I know what is at stake," Draco forced through clenched teeth. Of course. It was just like his father to say something like that. His father, who was desperate to restore honor and power and fear to the family name, who would willingly crawl in the mud and kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes if it would mean being granted his favor. His father, pathetic and weak. Draco had sworn, before returning to Hogwarts to fulfill his mission, that he would never be like his father, would never grovel or blindly obey. And after his recent revelations, his distaste for the man had grown.

Snape suddenly whipped around and stalked over to Draco. He grabbed Draco's chin, forcing his head up. Dark eyes bore into stormy gray ones. "Then perhaps you would care to do what the Dark Lord commanded you to do, Draco, before he gives you a reminder personally."

Draco jerked his face out of Snape's hand. "Fine," he spat, glaring at his House Head.

"Now then, since we have settled that matter, draw your wand." Snape moved to the other end of the room. "Let us see if you have improved."

Draco stood, anger constricting his chest, his breaths coming out of him in spurts. He couldn't stand any more of these expectations, these demands they were all making of him. His father, Snape, the Dark Lord… All they ever did was push him around and expect him to fill the roles they laid out for him. His hand clenched around his wand, his eyes fixed on the overgrown _bat _standing before him, acting as if he were dealing with a petulant five-year-old.

"Do not look at me like that, Draco," Snape said, his voice growing threateningly soft. "This is your job. You signed up for this-"

"I did not." Draco cut across Snape, his anger getting the better of him. "I did not sign up for this. My father made me agree to take this mission, all because he's made our name into mud-"

"You made that choice, Draco. I cannot pretend that it was a wise decision, but it was still yours to make and thus it is your responsibility-"

"MY FATHER TORTURED ME INTO THIS DECISION," Draco roared, losing all semblance of control. "Did he tell you that? Did he tell you he used the Cruciatus on me, because I didn't want this? My own father used an Unforgivable Curse on me, his own son, all because he cocked up and now the Dark Lord doesn't want to play with him anymore and-"

"Your father is doing this for your family-"

"His family?" Draco burst into mocking, manic laughter. "He's not doing this for his family. My father could care less about my mother, and he gave me up without a second thought, all so icky Voldy-kins would let him back into the playground-"

"Do not speak of the Dark Lord in that way, Draco-"

"LEGILIMENS!" Draco bellowed, pointing his wand straight at Snape's heart. He didn't know what made him do it. All he knew was that he wanted to break the man standing in front of him, get into his head and probe into his deepest secrets, cause him pain somehow, because Snape did not understand, Snape hadn't been there when Draco saw his father raise that cobra-headed wand and silently curse his own son, torture him into agreeing to this stupid mission. Snape didn't see Draco being forced to atone for a foolish man's mistakes; no, everyone saw this as an honor. Well it was an honor Draco could do without. And as for his father, with his elitist ideals and desperate desires… Draco had no yearning to emulate that weak, pathetic man, not anymore. Never again would he look up to his father the way he had before.

Draco's attack had caught Snape off guard, but Snape was still an excellent Occlumens. Their minds warred with each other; Draco's trying to get in, Snape's trying to keep him out. Draco snarled, trying to push the barrier further, make it snap. He could not be weak, not like his father. The thought of his father caused a fresh surge of anger and Draco pushed and _pushed –_and Snape's eyes widened and Draco felt the barrier snap-

_He was standing between library shelves, watching a pretty red-haired girl laugh with her friends, feeling a pang of longing in his heart-_

Draco felt Snape begin to push him back, force him out of his mind-

_He was 11 years old and in Malfoy Manor. His father was yelling at him for having gotten into trouble at school with Potter and his friends-_

Draco growled low in his throat and pushed back-

_Laughter filled the air around him. He was hanging upside down as a boy with untidy hair and hazel eyes taunted him, a good-looking boy barking with laughter at his feet-_

Snape narrowed his eyes and Draco felt the barrier rebuilding-

_Light poured in through the window of the storeroom as he struggled to perform a simple healing charm on his bruised ribs, but his eyes were tearing up and he couldn't read the spell right, and his father's words were still ringing in his ears-_

Draco tried to force himself back into Snape's head, but the defenses were already coming up. The advantage he had gotten from his surprise attack was diminishing as Snape pushed him further out of his head, but fury was still on Draco's side-

_Darkness was falling. He was cowering in a corner, while a man hit a sobbing woman with a book. There was the smell of alcohol in the air-_

But fury wasn't enough and Draco felt himself thrust out of Snape's head-

_Warm brown eyes were smiling up at him. Light filtered through the yellow curtains and there was laughter in the air and Draco's heart was lighter than it had ever been in his entire life-_

"NO!" Draco wrenched his mind away with a shout. He staggered backward, collided with the chair, and fell over. He didn't even notice the pain that shot through his hip. His mind was panicking. Had Snape seen that last memory? Had he felt the happiness, the lightness that Draco hadn't fully comprehended yet? Fearfully, he looked up. Snape's face was impassive, but his dark eyes glinted.

Not looking at the professor, Draco got up, wincing. For a moment, he stood there, looking at his feet, at the stones of the floor, anywhere but Snape. He didn't know what to expect, but for the first time in his life he was genuinely afraid of the man standing before him. What if he had seen –or worse, recognized the brown hair and eyes that had made the thing in his ribcage –his heart– so…happy?

"The lesson is over, Draco." The voice was quiet, emotionless. Draco's heart pounded in his chest. Without looking up, he wrenched the door open and fled.

**xxxxx**

Draco's footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, though the beating of his heart seemed, to him, to be much, much louder. Not wanting to return to his House in the state he was in, he simply ran through the castle, letting his feet take him where they would. Hurt and anger and confusion welled up inside him –from the thought of his father, from the memory of her eyes, from the way Snape had looked at him when he had been sprawled on the floor, and from everything he had ever gone through the past 16 years. His chest felt tight and suddenly he wished he had never returned to Hogwarts, had never given in to his father's demands, had never agreed to become a Death Eater. But more than that, he wished he had never delved into the mind of that Gryffindor girl, had never witnessed the sadness in her life. He wished he had never learned to care about her.

Draco hurtled around a corner and collided into something warm and solid. He stumbled backward, almost fell. He looked up, prepared to lash out at whoever it was that had blocked his way, when his gray eyes met brown ones. Hermione. She was standing, her hand clutching a nearby suit of armor, probably to arrest her fall. She stared down at him, just as surprised as he was. Her warm brown eyes filled with shock, then annoyance, then concern as she studied him. Something about her eyes made something in Draco snap, and abruptly he threw his arms around her and broke into sobs. Hermione's eyes widened, and for a moment they just stood there, she with her arms held slackly at her sides, confused, and he with his arms around her neck, sobbing uncontrollably. But as his tears began to soak through her robes, Draco felt a slender pair of arms wrap around his waist, and heard a soft voice whisper, "sshhh." The two of them stood there, holding each other, and for once Draco didn't care that_ a Malfoy does not cry._

**xxxxx**

_A/N. So… what do you guys think? Is this chapter weird? Is the plot going bad? Is the romance tickling your fangirl bones? Are you still even reading? (Haha.) Let me know through reviews, please and thank you!_


	15. A Sketch in the Library

_A/N. Thank you again for all your wonderful reviews! A shoutout to the person who was saying something about Legilimens being used on Draco –I think I'd have a hard time fitting that into the story, particularly if it came from Hermione. Though I am still thinking about whether I'll be including more memories. I'll work something out._

_Chapter time!_

**xxxxx**

DECEMBER 17th. 222 DAYS AGO.

"Draco. Mate. Hey, Draco. Anyone home?" Draco blinked as something waved in front of his face. Blaise was sitting opposite him at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, waving his hand, trying to catch Draco's attention. It was breakfast time, and the usual noise of students chatting and laughing filled the air. Draco looked down and saw that a tiny puddle of oatmeal had formed on the table in front of him.

"Sorry," he muttered at no one in particular. He waved his wand and the mess of food he'd made disappeared. He hadn't been able to keep his mind from wandering the past week, much as he'd tried. It just kept going back to Hermione and what had happened between them that night… He shook his head and looked up. Blaise was smirking at him from across the table. "What?"

"What's gotten into you?" Blaise asked, his playful expression changing to a more serious one. "You've been rather out of sorts these past few days. I know you've usually got something on your mind, but you've never been this distracted." He waved a forkful of eggs in Draco's direction. "What is it? Girls? Boys? Family, again? Because we all know how much you love your family-"

"Blaise," Draco cut in smoothly, smiling despite himself. "Not boys. I give you full permission to hex me the day a boy becomes a problem in the way I know you're thinking of." He deftly stole some cheese from Blaise's plate, dodging Blaise's fork as it tried to stop him. "And I suppose you could say it was family. My father's gotten it into his head to remind me of my duty."

"You mean…" Blaise's voice dropped until it was almost inaudible. "Your duty to…Him?"

"Perhaps," Draco answered evasively, focusing on his toast in much the same way he focused on a piece of Arithmancy homework.

Blaise's eyes went wide for a second, then reverted to their slightly bored expression. "So it's a girl, then," he nonchalantly remarked, helping himself to some pumpkin juice, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye. Draco, whose mind was already starting to wander, nodded absentmindedly. "It is?" Blaise dropped the jug of juice in shock.

"Wait, what?" Draco sputtered through the juice that coated his face. _I am going to hex him for this, _he thought, as he lifted his arm to sniff at his robe and noted that it was soaked with pumpkin juice. He'd have to go back to the dormitories and change. "When did I say that?"

"You agreed! I only said it as a joke, but you nodded." Blaise seemed to have forgotten about the jug lying on the table, its contents running everywhere. "I didn't expect you to. Oh, Merlin, this is beautiful. The great Draco Malfoy has girl problems." A wide grin spread across his face. "Now how could that possibly happen?"

"I most certainly did not agree," Draco hissed, ready to hex Blaise. He knew now that no matter what he said or did, he would never convince Blaise otherwise. His friend could be unfortunately stubborn that way. For a moment, he considered telling Blaise the truth –but at the back of his mind, he knew it would only lead to the end of their friendship, at the very least.

"Oh, you _most certainly did," _Blaise said, mocking Draco's tone. He smirked. "But honestly. We're best mates. You can tell me anything." He folded his arms, rested them on the table. "And something is definitely bothering you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco watched Hermione laugh at the Gryffindor table. For the past week, they had been avoiding each other again. They were back to their unspoken agreement of not speaking to each other. Draco was certain she felt as lost and confused as he did. He still didn't quite know why he'd done what he had that night –he'd _hugged _her, for Merlin's sake. Voluntarily wrapped his arms around her neck. He'd practically _thrown _himself at her, in his desperate need for comfort. The wanting had shaken him. He couldn't ever remember truly wanting warmth and comfort from another person. Growing up as a Malfoy had done that to him.

He shifted his attention back to Blaise, feeling oddly guilty. About not telling Blaise anything, and about avoiding Hermione. Maybe he could tell his friend _something. _It might even do good to ask for a little (hypothetical) advice. He leaned forward. "Well, let's say that _hypothetically," _he said, looking at Blaise and daring him to challenge his words, "I have hit a slight snag in winning over a certain girl. My mere existence is not enough to make her fling herself at my feet. What do you think I should do?"

"Well if your presence doesn't make her swoon or scream, then we may have finally found a decent girl in this school," Pansy said as she sat down next to Blaise. Both boys started. They hadn't noticed her coming. "I'm relieved to know there's at least one sane girl here aside from me and Granger." She and Blaise chuckled.

Draco felt his heart thud in his chest and had to work to control his expression. He knew, of course, that he was asking about Hermione. Not that he wanted to "win her over" (_it's not like that, _he reasoned with himself); he just wanted to be friends with her. He'd rather enjoyed the civility and banter that had gone between them that day in the library, and he couldn't shake the feeling that her arms had given him. Even if he had been her tormentor for years, she had wrapped her arms around him, comforted him. He shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to Pansy and Blaise, who were still talking.

"Drakie! You aren't listening to me," Pansy pouted at him, leaning forward to allow her robes to part slightly. Draco had to stop himself from grimacing at the sight of her advances. This girl never gave up. He forced himself to smile.

"My apologies, Pansy. You were saying?"

"If you want to win someone over, just turn on the Malfoy charm," she sniffed, obviously hurt. "You're always downplaying your talents. It wouldn't hurt to use them every so often."

"Pansy's right, mate," Blaise agreed. Draco raised his eyes at his friend. "What? I've been with enough ladies to have ideas on what makes them tick. You're a man of many talents. Use them." He smirked, and Draco returned it, noticing the slightly touch of lewdness in his friend's voice. Use his talents? It was true his mother had had him educated and taught in many things, during all those summers at home. He could now play the piano and dance (formal dances, of course) and he'd even started on the violin. And he'd always been able to draw, ever since he was little; his art classes had simply honed that talent. Perhaps there was something useful in his friends' advice.

"Maybe you'd like to practice them on me, Drakie?" Pansy batted her heavily-made-up eyelashes at him. "You could draw me. I could pose for you in any way you want, even… _naked." _She breathed the last word, her lips turning up and what she must have thought was a suggestive smile. To Draco it looked more like a twisted predator's smile.

"I should get my homework done," he said, getting up. His stomach felt a little queasy after Pansy's last remark. Ignoring her disappointed look and Blaise's questioning one, he went back to the dormitory to get his things. He'd study in the library, if only to get away from all this interrogating and flirting.

**xxxxx**

She was sitting there. He had been hoping she would; it was partly why he'd chosen the library to study in, as opposed to the common room or even the Room of Requirement. He'd brought his Ancient Runes text so he could finally finish it. There was just a third of it left and it was due in a few days. He wondered if she was finished with hers.

Steeling himself, he walked through the shelves, up to the table. She didn't look up. "May I join you?" he quietly asked. His heart thudded in his chest. He wasn't sure how he'd react if she said no.

She looked up then, her expression a little confused. No doubt he'd broken her concentration. She blinked and then did something Draco hadn't expected –she smiled. Not a forced smile, not a grimace, not even a civil smile. A sincere, warm smile. At the sight of it, the thudding in his chest grew wilder, and for a moment he was tempted to turn and run. Why was he feeling this way? They were working on the same text, they could work together. That was all.

When she nodded, he slid onto the seat, across from her, and laid down his own work materials. Silently, she passed him the textbook he'd used the last time he'd been translating. He smiled, seeing she remembered. For a few minutes they worked in comfortable silence, only sounds in the air being the scratching of their quills and the buzzing of voices in other parts of the library. Every so often, Draco would sneak a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She was biting on her nails, frowning down at the text. She would write something down, then consult a book, then scratch it out then write it again. He smiled, returning to his own text. The remaining parts were relatively simple: two more ingredients and a few comments on their measurements. He stretched a little, deciding to take a short break. He didn't have much homework to do, anyway.

He looked around the alcove, at the yellow curtains, the pale green upholstery, the slightly darker green cushions. The table was old, covered in countless scratches and doodles from previous Hogwarts generations. Draco noticed a small caricature of Professor Trelawny, her already-oversized spectacles blown up to ridiculous proportions, her hair a mess, her body that of an owl's. He chuckled to himself. "I wish I'd thought of that," he muttered.

"What?" Draco looked up at the sound of Hermione's voice. He'd said that louder than he had meant to.

"Look at this," he grinned. Setting down her quill, Hermione slid around the table to sit next to him. Her hand brushed against his arm and he was suddenly very much aware of their close proximity. Her arm was only inches from his own, her body right next to him. He could smell lemon and realized it was coming from her. The sun filtering through the window struck her hair and her skin and suddenly Draco didn't care very much for the doodle he'd called her over for. This was all very odd. What on earth was this girl doing to him?

"Is that Trelawny?" She laughed and Draco's breath caught in his chest. _Snap out of it, you idiot, _he mentally berated himself.

"I think it is. Looks like it isn't just us who think she looks like a half-mad bat." He laughed with her. It felt good, this camaraderie. Hermione pointed out other exaggerated cartoons of teachers in Hogwarts and laughed. The sunlight and her smile warmed Draco, and it was as if all the years of hostility had been forgotten. Without thinking, his hand moved and touched her arm lightly. His heart stopped as their skin made contact and even if he laughed, it was hollow. But she did not move away.

"I haven't laughed like this in ages," she said breathlessly, her cheeks pink –from laughing, Draco wondered, or from him? His smile faded somewhat at her remark, remembering her sadness. She brushed tears from her eyes and he remembered the haggard girl he'd seen in this very alcove, her head in her arms, her shoulders shaking. He wanted to ask her what had happened to her, what had gone wrong, but he was scared to ruin the friendly atmosphere. Their… he was hesitant to call it "friendship, but couldn't think of anything else. It was so new that he didn't quite know what to make of it. Instead he simply smiled at her, and she at him, and she slid back to her original place to continue working.

The moments with her had only served to decrease his drive to work, so Draco leaned back, twirling his quill in his hands. Idly, he put it to a fresh piece of parchment and, as he always had when he was bored, began to sketch. In the middle of his sketch of his ink bottle, a movement caught his eye. Hermione was tying up her hair. He watched her, her hands bunching up her hair, a smile on her face. The afternoon sun fell on her through the yellow curtains. Looking at her, Draco allowed himself to finally admit to her attractiveness. She did make a pretty picture. Struck by that thought, he brought his quill back to the parchment and began to sketch her.

Drawing her allowed Draco to really look at her for once. Look at her skin, at her chestnut brown hair, at her warm brown eyes, at the curve of her lips. He wondered why he had never looked at her before. They had both been so caught up in their small schoolyard war. He could feel vestiges of his old hatred for her surfacing, and struggled to quell them. His new beliefs were still rather fragile, and the old him still lurked in his mind, muttering that he shouldn't be looking at her like this, shouldn't be thinking of her in this way. He shoved that voice to the deepest recesses of his head. No. He would not be like his father, not anymore.

"What are you doing?" Hermione paused her work again and looked over at him. She started sidling over to him again and Draco felt panicked. He didn't know why. He just felt nervous at the thought of her seeing his drawing of her. He made to pull the parchment away, hide it from her, but she beat him to it. She peered at it, puzzled at first, then surprised, then delighted. Draco watched the smile form on her face, watched her try to hide it and fail, watched her blush. She leaned over and smacked his shoulder.

"You didn't have to draw in my eye bags," she said, trying to appear sulky and failing miserably.

Draco laughed. "They're part of you." She smacked him again, looked at the pencil version of her half-smiling up at her, arms raised, in the middle of tying her hair. Her eyes were looking elsewhere, somewhere beside her.

"You made me look so pretty." She looked down, smiling, hiding her blush, but Draco had seen it. He half-raised his hand, to touch her cheek, but stopped and touched her wrist instead. _You are, _he wanted to say, but couldn't, because it didn't feel quite right. Instead he smiled at her. She looked up at him, some expectation in her eyes, but he stayed silent. She slowly put down the paper in front of him. "I still can't believe you can draw."

"Why not?" He felt amused by her disbelief.

"It just doesn't seem like you."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Hermione," he replied, a dry smile crossing his face. She blinked at his use of her first name. "Something wrong?"

"I'm just not used to you calling me that." She laughed. "It feels so bizarre."

He chuckled. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." She looked around. Draco wondered if it was because she couldn't look at him. He tucked the paper into his notebook. Silently, they finished their work. The afternoon sunlight started to face. Draco wrote out the final line of translation with a sigh of relief.

"I suppose I should go back to the common room now," Hermione said, putting her things into her bag. Draco felt a pang of –disappointment, maybe? Nothing positive, that was for sure. "Harry and Ron have been complaining about how I spend so much time in the library. Thank you, though."

"For what?" Draco asked, confused. Why was she thanking him?

"For being nice today. I like things much better when we aren't fighting over such ridiculous premises." She smiled, and once again Draco was pleased to notice it was sincere.

"I like this, too," he replied, meaning it. She hesitated, opened her mouth. He waited for her to say something, anything, not even knowing what he wanted her to say. But she just smiled again and left. Draco sat there, amidst his school things and the yellow curtains, feeling oddly lonely.

What had she done to him?

**xxxxx**

_A/N. So… was that too fast? Too much romance in too little time? I've been waiting to write this chapter, ever since I mentioned the drawing in one of the "now" portions, haha. Review and let me know what you guys think! I can always post a chapter in between, somewhere, to slow things down a little. Feedback, please and thank you!_


	16. Refusal and Punishment

NOW.

Just like that. From sworn enemies to something close to friends, all in a few months. It had been so easy for her to change my beliefs –though, if you think about it, it was my doing. If I hadn't probed her mind, I would never have seen the memories that had shaken me and my beliefs, beliefs I'd held on to for so long. She was my undoing, my downfall, and yet I loved her, though I did not know it yet at the time. I did not know how much more she had yet to unravel of me, how much more falling down I had to do. I did not know how much danger she had put me in, by allowing me to care about her. How much danger I had put myself in, by letting the rules by which I had lived my life, be shattered.

**xxxxx**

DECEMBER 18th. 221 DAYS AGO.

It was the last day of school before the holidays. Most of the students were simply wandering around the grounds, wishing each other happy holidays and basking in their day off. For Draco, however, it just meant his last day of freedom before heading back to the confines of Malfoy Manor. All around him, students were chatting about their upcoming holiday trips, to home and other places, and about their excitement at getting to be with their families again. Draco glared at all of them, resentful of their happiness. He would give anything to be able to give his name to Snape to put on the list of those staying in Hogwarts over the holidays, but he knew both Snape and his father would never allow it. The only attempt he'd made at rebellion was not packing yet.

Draco wandered through the hordes of students in the corridors, the only one silent amidst thousands of chattering voices. He kept his head down, not wanting to see the expressions on all the other students' faces. His feet took him across cobblestone floors, then grass and soft ground. He looked up to see he was standing by the lake. He gritted his teeth, remembering the last time he'd been here. He made his way to the rocks and sat down, leaning against one of the smoother ones. The lake was calm, the surface smooth and glassy, like it was mocking him and all the chaos inside himself. Slipping off his shoes and picking up a few rocks, he walked to the edge of the lake and began to skip them, the ripples he created bringing some small satisfaction.

"You might wake up the giant squid if you throw too many rocks into the lake." A familiar voice came from around the rocks, but he determinedly kept his gaze on the lake, watching the ripples he'd caused turn into waves that washed up near his feet. Footsteps sounded, getting louder with each stone he sent skipping over the surface, and then brown hair appeared in his peripheral vision. It was her.

"I'm not scared of the squid." He chuckled a little, skipped another stone over the lake. It jumped over the water twice before sinking. Still out of the corner of his eye, he watched Hermione bend down, pick up a stone, try to skip it as well. It sank as soon as it hit the water. He laughed louder, and then more as she pouted. He felt his initial resolve to ignore her fade as she laughed with him. He sent a final stone skipping over the water and sat down, the small waves lapping at his toes. To his surprise (and delight), she sat down next to him. Not near enough for him to feel her warmth, but still with him.

"Then what _are_ you scared of?" She was looking at him, curiosity in her eyes. He was a little surprised by the question, even more so by the fact that he didn't seem to have an answer. He ran his hand through his hair, bit his lip, stared out across the lake. What _was_ he scared of? His father? The Dark Lord? Failure? Or the odd feeling in his chest he got whenever she was near?

"I don't know," he finally answered. She simply nodded and they stared out at the lake together. Draco was acutely aware of the distance between them; if he just reached out, he could touch her. The void where his arm could be was almost palpable, but Draco couldn't bring himself to fill it. He still wasn't sure where he stood with her, or what she was to him. Were they friends? Was that possible, after everything that had gone between them?

"Why are you here?" he asked, by way of breaking the silence. "Shouldn't you be off with Potty and Weasel enjoying the last day before the holidays?"

She looked away, laughing a little. "I would, except they're busy playing wizard's chess down in the Great Hall. Harry hasn't beaten Ron yet, but he's absolutely determined to." She shook her head. "I've never been interested in that silly game anyway, so I wandered off. Then I saw you down here on your own, and, well, I thought you looked lonely." She looked down, and were her cheeks pink, or was it a trick of the light? "I don't actually know why I came down here." She laughed again.

"I'm not lonely." He smiled and she ducked her head lower. "I just… didn't want to be surrounded by all that happiness." His honesty surprised himself, but he kept going. Might as well finish what he started. "Everyone's so excited about the Christmas holidays. They're all talking about going home." He stopped, wondering if he should voice the thoughts in his heart, the reluctance weighing him down like wet clothes.

She did it for him. "You don't want to go home." Her voice was quiet; it wasn't questioning or accusing, simply stating a fact. He slowly nodded. "Why?"

Her question made memories of his father and his anger flash through his mind and before he could control himself, he winced, withdrew from her. She put her hand out, instinctively, but he was already shrinking away. Instead she set it down on the ground. "Sorry," she said, looking it. "You don't have to answer."

Draco remained silent, contemplating. He knew they were being civil to each other now, perhaps even friendly, but this level of intimacy was something else entirely. He enjoyed talking to her, but he wasn't ready to share anything _personal. _He didn't share the details behind his reluctance to go home to anyone, not even Blaise. Blaise just assumed that his family was like every other elite pureblood family –the parents let their children do as they please as long as they conformed to the rules and standards. Draco doubted Blaise's parents ever used the Cruciatus on him, not matter how insolent he was.

He knew why he was reluctant to go home. His father was expecting him to come home with a goldmine worth of information freshly plucked from the minds of "The Golden Trio" (not that Draco advocated that moniker), ready to be presented to the Dark Lord. It was, after all, Draco's mission, now that he was (and Draco almost shuddered) a Death Eater. Going back to Malfoy Manor meant succumbing to all the expectations and duties set upon him. He felt them on his shoulders, like bricks, piling up. He didn't want to go back because he had no information, or at least, none he was willing to part with. He knew he'd be tortured, of course; punished for what would be taken as disobedience. And then he would be sent back to finish his task.

"I should go pack," he said abruptly, standing up. "Er-"

"Happy holidays -Draco," she said, standing, his name falling awkwardly from her lips. He smiled, though he didn't really feel very much like smiling. It just felt like the right thing to do.

"Happy holidays, Hermione." He turned and walked back into the castle, not noticing that she had returned his smile. Her cheeks were still pink.

**xxxxx**

"Welcome home, Young Master Draco." The Malfoy's house-elf, Trilly, bowed as she opened the door for him. "Master and Mistress are in the parlor, awaiting your arrival."

"Thank you, Trilly." Draco set down his trunk on the freshly-waxed floor of the entrance hall and inhaled the stale air of Malfoy Manor. The Manor was spotless, as always, but the atmosphere was always an unwelcoming one, as if the owners of the house didn't care enough for it to actually put the many spacious rooms to good use. Which was true. Lucius was always off doing things in the Ministry or Knockturn Alley, or with the Dark Lord, and Narcissa was always locking herself in the library or visiting friends or hosting charities balls elsewhere. Draco was more often than not the sole human occupant of this house that was entirely too big for only three people, and he spent most of his days in his room or the room on the second floor. Sometimes he really wondered why his family was still together.

Slowly, he made his way to the parlor, dragging his feet. His reluctance to see his parents only increased the closer he got to the door. But it was inevitable, and soon he found himself turning open the doorknob and pushing open the heavy door. It shut behind him with an ominous thud.

It didn't surprise him to see his parents were sitting on opposite sides of the room. They were opposites in everything, particularly in personality. His father was stoic, strict and elitist; his mother was flighty, vague and …_gushy, _as he'd overheard one of her friends describing her. He walked over to his mother first. She would be more welcoming.

"Good afternoon, Mother," he greeted her, stiffly kissing her cheek. She raised a hand to his face, traced his jaw line. There were worry lines along her brow. Draco softened a little. His mother, for all her faults, did care for him. She was the one who bought all his journals and sketchbooks, his suits and robes, his books. Her affection was awkward, but it was still there. Reluctantly, he turned away from her, strode toward his father. "Good afternoon, Father." He bowed slightly, as he had been taught to do. His father stood unmoving, apparently examining the shelf in front of him. Finally, when his back started to ache from being bent, he straightened. The silence between the three hung in the air, awkward and almost tangible.

Narcissa was the first to speak; Draco knew she hated the hostility between him and his father. "How was school, Draco?"

"School is going well, Mother. My teachers have mentioned their pleasure at my progress." Narcissa's face lit up, and Draco was momentarily at peace in his home. But then his father chose to speak.

"I trust your mission is going as… _well _as your schoolwork, Draco." His father's voice was quiet but scathing; his face still turned to the shelf. Draco pursed his lips. Narcissa's face fell. She knew all too well what became of the interactions between her husband and her son. "So far you have failed to report anything to Professor Snape. I can only assume this means you wish to report your findings to me, or even to the Dark Lord himself."

Draco remained silent. If he didn't answer, he would be hexed, and most likely tortured, by his father, and possibly even by the Dark Lord. But he deduced (correctly) that his father would not report his failings to the Dark Lord just yet; it could lead to their falling even further down in the ranks. If he reported what he'd discovered, however, then the Death Eaters would somehow manage to use that information to torture Hermione, maybe even kill her. And he didn't want that. He didn't want her killed on such baseless ideals.

"Draco?" His father turned now, his gray eyes fixed on his son's, his face impassive. Draco watched his fingers idly trace the cobra head carving on his cane. He knew what was coming, but he held his silence. He refused to compromise Hermione's privacy. Not for something he no longer believed in, and not for a man he held in only contempt.

"Crucio." It was the first time he heard his father speak the curse out loud when using it on him. The voice was quiet, understating the emotions behind it. Pain hit him like a lightning bolt, coursing through his body, but he clenched his fists and braced himself, determined not to collapse this time. He felt his knees shake. His body was in agony. He sank toward the floor slightly, but forced himself to stay standing. He heard his father snarl, his normally cool composure breaking, and the pain, if possible, doubled. He felt sweat break out over his body; he steeled himself. But he could feel his determination cracking. The pain increased again and this time Draco couldn't stop the groan that escaped his lips. His knees started to give. His whole body was shaking. As hard as he tried to fight the curse, he was being broken-

"Lucius, stop!" His mother's voice rang out through the parlor, her desperation evident. It startled both Draco and his father, and even Narcissa herself. She had never stood up to her husband before. Her shocked morphed into fear as her husband lowered his wand and turned on her. Draco tried to stop him, but the Cruciatus and his resistance to it had greatly weakened him, and he fell back into a nearby chair instead, panting.

"I thought I told you not to interfere with my parenting!" Lucius' voice was as sharp as the sound his slap made. Narcissa stumbled backward, a red mark appearing on her cheek. Draco winced. "I will deal with our son's failings in whatever way I choose, and you will be silent!" Another slap, this time to the other cheek, and Narcissa whimpered. Lucius raised his hand again and Narcissa shrank back, but before he could hit her again, Draco found his wand.

"Protego," he whispered weakly, and a shield charm erupted between his parents. Lucius stumbled back slightly, startled by the sudden barrier. On the other side, Narcissa's eyes widened in panic. Her son had trapped himself with his father. Lucius spun around, his expression livid. Both his son and his wife were being insubordinate. Draco knew he had won himself worse punishment, but at least he didn't have to see his mother being hurt. He cared for her, despite the fact that she hadn't been much of a mother. She was the only one in this house who cared for him.

"Take away that shield charm, Draco." His father's words came out strangled. Lucius was obviously trying to maintain some measure of control. Draco couldn't find it in himself to speak just yet, and so he simply shook his head. His father's eyes narrowed, and Draco steeled himself. A stinging pain erupted in his shoulder and he could feel something warm and wet trickle down his skin. A deep slash sat gaping on his shirt, the cut showing through. Another slash of his father's wand, and another cut opened on his right cheek. He could hear Narcissa sobbing on the other side of the protective barrier. He struggled to stand up, but ended up collapsing on the floor, his arm thrown out on the seat of the chair for support. His father advanced on him. "Did you hear what I said, Draco?"

"No," he choked out. Almost immediately, another cut opened on his lower right arm, and he almost dropped his wand.

"No, you did not hear what I said?" That voice of venom and velvet –Draco hated it.

"No, I will not lift the shield," he forced through his teeth. His father stopped a few feet away from him, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Another slash, another cut, this time across his ribs.

"Draco…" His father's voice was almost inaudible in its anger.

"I said no." At that, Draco knew he'd gone too far. His father did not tolerate disobedience. He was master of his house and he intended to make full use of his position. He could feel the blood trickling from his wounds, the stinging pain of exposed flesh, and he knew he was in for much worse. His father's wanted pointed straight between his eyes and his world went white. It felt as if the pain was inseparable from him. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the sound of his mother's screaming.

**xxxxx**

When he awoke, it was morning. The sunlight streamed through his east-facing windows. He felt groggy. It hurt to move. He lifted his hand to his head and it brushed against cloth. He touched them, confused. Bandages. There were bandages wrapped around his head. He looked down, slowly, and found there were more on his arms. His movement made the bedclothes rustle and he felt more bandages wrapped around his chest. What had happened? Where was he? This bed felt more comfortable than the one he had at Hogwarts. The sheets were more luxurious, the mattress softer, the pillowcases embroidered with the Malfoy crest…

Malfoy. The suddenness of the thought sent his head reeling and he lay back down. He was home, at Malfoy Manor. He had bandages because of the fight he'd gotten into with his father. He closed his eyes, wondering how his mother was doing. Doubtless she had received some of Lucius' wrath after he had passed out. His hatred for his father deepened. He knew he, if not deserved, had at least invited his father's rage through his blatant disobedience, but his mother had done nothing wrong.

The door to his room creaked open slowly, and Trilly poked her tiny face in. "Young Master Draco! You are awake?"

"Yes, Trilly."

"Would Young Master Draco like some breakfast?"

"Thank you, Trilly. That would be most welcome." The house-elf disappeared and Draco smiled. Seeing Trilly reminded him of Hermione and her efforts to raise awareness for what she saw as deplorable working conditions of house-elves. It was hard not to know about S.P.E.W., the way she blathered about it around school. Contrary to her beliefs, not all house-elves were treated inhumanely by pure-blood families. Both Draco and Narcissa had always been kind to the family house-elves. They never yelled or beat them, and they always addressed them politely. It was only Lucius who treated them much the same way he treated Muggle-borns.

Soon enough, Trilly returned with a tray loaded with food. Draco, finding he was starving, made short work of it. Draining a glass of fresh orange juice, he glanced out the window. "Trilly, what day is it?"

"It is December 22nd, Young Master. Young Master has been unconscious for four days. Mistress has asked that Trilly tend to Young Master's wounds, and so Trilly has." The house-elf bowed deeply. "Does Young Master require anything?"

"No, Trilly, thank you." Four days? That was long. He wondered what had gone about the house while he'd been unconscious. He looked around the room and his gaze fell on a package on his bedside table. He reached for it but winced as pain shot through his arm.

Trilly's eyes widened in alarm. "Young Master must not strain himself! Young Master's wounds are still not healed. Mistress has ordered Trilly to tell Young Master that he must not move from his bed and must get his rest." She walked over and reached for the package, but hesitated, turning her large eyes fearfully to Draco. When he nodded, she picked it up and handed it to him. "T'is a gift left by Mistress for Young Master. Master has gone out on business these past few days and Mistress has gone out shopping to occupy herself. Mistress has said that she will visit Young Master once he is awake." The house-elf bowed again. "May Trilly go to Mistress to inform her that Young Master has regained consciousness?"

Draco nodded, and Trilly disappeared with a loud crack. When the echoes had disappeared (the sudden noise had his ears ringing, making him dizzy), he turned his attention to the package. He could tell it was a new book. He ripped open the wrapping. It was a Quidditch book. He smiled and set it aside. He could tell his head wasn't up to reading just yet. He lay back down on his pillows, and the warm morning sun and the light breeze lulled him to sleep.

When he next awoke, it was from his mother's hand pressed to his forehead. She had a frown on her face, but it soon smoothed over when she saw he was awake. Gingerly, Draco sat up. His mother stood awkwardly over him. Affection had never really run in their family. The most caring Narcissa had showed her son was to purchase him whatever his heart desired.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her hand moving toward his shoulder but stopping halfway, so it hung between them.

"Much better, thank you, Mother." He studied her. She was pale, but neatly dressed, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. The sleeves of her dress were long, but since her hand was outstretched Draco could see part of her arm. It had scratches. She hadn't escaped the onslaught of her husband, then. Draco's gut clenched in anger. Following her son's gaze, Narcissa lowered her arm, her cheeks turning pink.

"Well I'm glad to see you're awake. I was worried you wouldn't be able to spend Christmas with your family." She forced a smile. It was clear she was still shaken from whatever Lucius had done to her.

"Mother-"

"I've bought you a new suit. Charcoal gray, this time, to match your eyes. I think it will look very smart on you. I expect you to wear it for Christmas dinner. We've invited the Parkinsons and the Zabinis over, so you can see your friends outside of Hogwarts." His mother retreated to her shallow chatter, refusing to acknowledge anything that had happened to both of them four days ago. "Pansy's grown into quite a woman, hasn't she? I met both her and her mother while out shopping. She would make an excellent match."

"Mother…"

"Trilly, would you be so kind as to check on Draco's wounds? Perhaps the dressings are ready to come off." Trilly nodded and stepped forward. "Now Draco, be sure to get your rest. It won't do for you to appear ill on Christmas Eve." For a moment she looked down at Draco, and a strange expression crossed her face. It was too fleeting for Draco to pinpoint the exact emotion. Then she blinked and was forcing a smile once more. "Enjoy the rest of your holidays, dear." She kissed his cheek and for a moment, Draco was seized with the urge to grab onto her, bury his face in her dress, and burst into tears. He desperately needed to be cared for somehow; the past few weeks had been all too confusing for him. But she drew away and patted his head, and left, leaving only the scent of her perfume to remind Draco of a mother who was too scared to act in ways she was not expected to.

Draco fell back heavily on the cushions of his bed. He barely noticed Trilly's ministrations, not even when she tapped her fingers against the red scars on his skin, sparking them with magic to hasten their healing. He looked at the book on his bedside table. How had they become like this? A father who raged against everything out of his desperation to maintain his position and power; a mother who cowered in fear of her husband, and went around pretending nothing was wrong; and a son who had defected from the teachings they had handed to him ever since birth. Draco almost laughed. They were such a dysfunctional family.

"Trilly may leave Young Master now?" The small voice of the house-elf broke through his thoughts. He met the expectant gaze of those large, brown eyes and nodded. The house-elf bowed and exited the room. Draco made himself more comfortable in his bed and sighed. His last thoughts, as he drifted off to sleep once more, were of brown eyes, not on the face of a small house-elf, but on that of a girl back at school who had asked him why he was so reluctant to go back home.

_Here's your answer, Hermione, _he thought, and sleep claimed him.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. This, I think, is the longest chapter I have ever written for a fanfic. Six pages, and four thousand words. Was it too overwhelming? Was the contrast between the part at school and at home too great? Did it suck? Is it too long? I'm sorry I haven't been updating much lately; school's getting in the way already. Please R&R and tell me what you think!_


	17. The Night Before Christmas

_A/N. Thank you to the two people who reviewed saying they wanted Lucius Malfoy dead. Haha! Personally, I'm not too fond of him myself, but I do enjoy writing about the conflicts between him and Draco. I hope I'm not overdramatizing anything._

_My apologies for the delay in updating. If anyone cares at all. Haha. Here I am again with my insecure angsting. ON TO THE CHAPTER._

**xxxxx**

DECEMBER 24th. 215 DAYS AGO.

The day before Christmas, Draco woke up with the sun. He glanced around the room, inhaling its lonely atmosphere. He was usually only here for the holidays, and even then he was rarely home for very long. The room gave off a feeling of abandonment. Suddenly he didn't really want to stay in bed, no matter how comfortable. He got up and quietly padded to the second floor storeroom. Once inside, he settled himself on the window sill and looked out onto the manor grounds. The early morning fog hadn't lifted yet, and the whole place looked and felt very medieval and picturesque. Draco wished he were outside so he could sketch it.

He glanced at the framed photographs that sat on a shelf inside the room. There were three. One was of him as a little boy, riding on a toy broomstick. The small version of him whizzed in and out of view, obviously squealing with delight. His mother's friends had often commented how he would grow up to be a great Quidditch player. He wondered if he would.

The next photograph was taken the day he, Blaise and Pansy were to first attend Hogwarts. He grinned at the three adolescents awkwardly standing around in the frame, with their sheepish smiles. Pansy still had that ridiculous haircut, and Blaise's face was bruised from where he'd tried to run into the wrong column. Draco himself had his hair slicked back, the way his mother used to style it, before he had grown irritated with it and had simply left it tousled and messy. Pansy's smile was the broadest as she stood between the two boys, who had their arms around her. The Tormenting Trio, as their parents had nicknamed them, from the days when they were toddlers racing around their respective houses, wreaking havoc with their every step. Draco was glad his mother had invited them to Christmas dinner. They hadn't been together much over the school year, and he missed them sorely, though none of them ever admitted to missing the others. It was not something Slytherins did.

The third picture had Draco's lips pressed tightly together. It was the picture version of the family painting that hung in the living room. He was seated; his parents stood behind him. Lucius had his hands behind his back, his chin held high; Narcissa stood next to him with one hand placed on Draco's shoulder. It wasn't an affectionate gesture; you could tell by her bearing and the way the hand lay that she was doing it because she didn't know what else to do. Both Draco and his mother had thin smiles on their faces. Lucius' face was impassive. Draco didn't like looking at this photograph, much. It just reminded him of how his family wasn't much of a family at all.

"Young Master Draco?" Trilly's voice came from the other side of the door. She was the only one in the house who was privy to Draco's little sanctuary. "Mistress is looking for you. She requests that Young Master begin his preparations for the Christmas meal, since the guests will be arriving soon."

Draco sighed, and went over and opened the door. "Thank you, Trilly."

The elf bowed. "Mistress said she will wait in Young Master's room."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes in front of Trilly. Of course his mother would want to dress him for Christmas. She did it every year, despite Draco's complaints. He didn't even try to be subtle about it, but his mother persisted. "Thank you, Trilly," he said again, more stiffly this time. Trilly bowed again and left.

Draco made his way to his room, where his mother was indeed waiting. She was gazing out the window, and appeared to not have heard him come in. He watched her for a moment, and felt a pang of sadness. Narcissa looked so… lonely. There was no other word for it. And Draco knew she was. Lucius was rarely ever at home, and now that Draco was at school, she had no one in this house. No wonder she went out so much. He studied her face. There were wrinkles on her brow, and a few smile lines crinkling the corners of her eyes. Her cheeks were rather hollow. She was still beautiful (she had been the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts in her day), but it had faded some, what with the fear and worry and pain she'd had to go through all these years. Her eyes, bright blue, seemed to hold immeasurable sadness. It was so striking; Draco felt the urge to sketch her. But she turned, and ruined the image by forcing a smile, erasing every trace of her true emotions as she always had.

"Ah, Draco. Wonderful. We must get you ready for the Christmas dinner."

**xxxxx**

"Drakie, what do you think of my dress?"

"Yeah, Drakie, what do you think?"

Draco was torn between vomiting in disgust and dying from laughter. Pansy, as always, was being her usual flirtatious self, batting her eyelashes and smoothing her dress down in a supposedly suggestive manner. What made it bearable, however, was Blaise's decision to mimic Pansy's every seductive move. The sight of his best friend running his hand down his blazer and batting his eyelashes at him in a mockery of Pansy's flirtations was too much for him, and he burst out laughing, Blaise soon following suit. Pansy pouted at the both of them and fiddled with her hair ornaments again. Blaise put on an exaggerated pout and pulled at a few short strands of hair and Draco's sides began to hurt from laughing.

"Boys, behave yourselves. Pansy, you look wonderful in that gown. Pink has always been your favorite color, hasn't it?" Draco noted that his mother avoided saying _pink has always been your color, _which is what she normally would have said to compliment a female guest. He silently agreed. Pansy insisted on wearing the ghastly color, no matter how it clashed with her complexion. It made her look sick.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy." Pansy smiled, honey-sweet, and the minute Narcissa turned away she kicked Blaise in the shin. That shut him up.

"She was totally lying to your face, _Flower. _Pink is an absolutely ghastly color, but somehow you manage to make it look even worse," Blaise said, using Pansy's old moniker and miming gagging. Pansy looked ready to murder him, but before Draco's intervention became necessary, Trilly appeared and announced that dinner was ready. The kids trudged after the adults into the dining hall, Pansy and Blaise trading the occasional slap or punch. Draco watched them bicker like little children in a playground and smiled. Their friendship hadn't changed much, and it was reassuring.

"Sit next to me, Drakie. You've barely spoken to me all evening." Pansy's hands closed on Draco's upper arm in a vice-like grip as she bared her teeth in what she must have believed to be an endearing smile.

"No, Drakie, you have to sit with me! Or else I'll pout and try to expose my cleavage all evening!" Blaise sauntered up and draped his arms around Draco's neck, making kissy faces at him. Pansy squealed in frustration and aimed a kick at Blaise that missed. The boys laughed and made their way to their assigned seats at the end of the table, Pansy trailing behind and muttering darkly to herself. Draco was infinitely grateful for Blaise's presence, no matter how ridiculous his antics could get. His friend grinned evilly at Pansy, who stuck her tongue out in response. Nope. Their friendship hadn't changed one bit.

Dinner was uneventful for the most part. Pansy would occasionally try to sweet talk Draco, once even trying to feed him a spoonful of buttery mashed potatoes. When he had declined, she immediately put the spoon in her mouth, licking it clean, with her eyes on him all the while. Blaise saved Draco from hurling his roast beef by doing the exact same thing but highly exaggerated, moaning the whole while. It had taken all of Draco's self-control not to laugh and accidentally spit out the mouthful of peas he'd had.

After dinner, the female adults went to the parlor to take their coffee and tea and gossip. The men went out to the porch to drink and smoke, and stay stoic and silent. Draco, Blaise and Pansy retreated to Draco's room, where they sat on the plush bed and bounced on it, just like when they had been kids. Pansy wasn't even trying to flirt with Draco anymore, which was a relief. He'd been feeling like something frozen then dipped into boiling hot water repeatedly all evening, what with the way Pansy's actions made him want to hurl and how Blaise's follow-ups made him want to laugh. For a while they all sat there, enjoying the companionable silence. Blaise was the first to break the silence.

"You're awfully silent tonight, Flower," he said, a mischievous grin breaking out over his face. "Draco, did you put a Silencing charm on her while I wasn't looking?"

"I most certainly did not, though that's an idea." Draco laughed. "I should start practicing my non-verbal spells more."

Pansy pouted and hugged her knees, glowering at the boys, who chuckled and lay back on the bed. Draco remembered when they'd been younger, they'd plan out schemes with which to terrorize the adults in charge, right here on his bed. They'd once replaced all the sugar with Dr. Frubert's Special White Voice-Changing Powder, special-ordered by Blaise from a practical joke catalog. The adults had spent an entire afternoon making animal noises. It had been particularly hilarious to see dignified old Mr. Parkinson making gorilla noises.

"Are you in love with someone else, Draco?"

Pansy's question came out of nowhere, and both Draco and Blaise shot up in astonishment. But the look on her eyes told Draco that his friend was actually quite serious about her inquiry, and he paused, thinking it over. It wouldn't be lying to say no. His thoughts drifted over to brown eyes and laughter and he immediately shoved them aside. That was not love. That was a form of companionship startlingly close to friendship. He looked from Pansy to Blaise, both looking at him expectantly.

"No, I am not. Why do you ask?"

"You're always so distracted these days," Pansy said, lying down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "And you keep disappearing to Merlin-knows-where for hours on end. And sometimes I catch you with a ridiculous smile on your face. Not a smirk or a sneer, but a genuinely happy smile."

"She has a point, mate." Blaise sat up properly. "You've been acting odd lately. Plus there was your question over breakfast a few weeks ago."

"So do you?" Pansy's eyes bored into Draco's. There was no accusation there, for once; no malevolence or flirtatiousness or annoyance. His friends just wanted to know. Draco bit the inside of his cheek, not knowing what to tell them. He couldn't exactly say that the reasons for his disappearances were because he was actually making friends with the "Mudblood Granger" and liking it, could he?

"You can tell us anything, mate. We're your friends." Blaise's voice was quiet, but in the silence of Draco's bedroom it was perfectly audible. "If you like someone or you're having girl problems or you're secretly gay and have been lusting after me all these years, we're here for you."

Draco fought to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching. Blaise and Pansy were smirking at him now. Trust Blaise to always be able to lighten the atmosphere with his little quips.

"Oh Merlin, Blaise, I thought I could keep it hidden. I can't anymore. Allow me to confess my undying love for you." He draped himself over his friend, letting his weight force the two of them down on his pillows, and made exaggerated kissy faces. In response, Blaise thumped Draco on the head.

"Bit of a heavy way to tell me, isn't this?" The three of them burst out laughing and piled into a giggling heap, hitting each other with pillows and pouncing on each other in a very undignified and un-Slytherin manner. Sometimes it felt good to let go of their House's pretenses and just have a little unbridled juvenile fun, like when they were younger. A few strands of Pansy's hair came loose and fell in front of her face and she tried to blow it off, resulting in more peals of laughter. When the adults came to fetch them, they were howling, Pansy's question completely forgotten.

In the entrance hall, Pansy leaned over and kissed Draco on his cheek. She leaned further and whispered hotly into his ear, "Merry Christmas, Drakie." Draco shuddered, which may have been a mistake, because when Pansy pulled back, she looked rather satisfied. She'd probably mistaken his disgusted shudder and a shiver of delight or something, Ugh.

"I'd copy that, except it means having to kiss Draco, which I absolutely refuse to do," Blaise called over from the hall closet where he was getting his scarf. "See you in school, mate." He and Draco shook hands, and he left with his family. Pansy and her parents followed soon after.

"That'd make a smart match, wouldn't it, Lucius?" Narcissa sighed happily, waving goodbye at their guests through the window.

"I sincerely hope you mean Miss Parkinson, Narcissa, especially after all the remarks I've been hearing this evening." Draco did a double take. He hadn't known his father capable of anything humorous. Glancing at his face, Draco noticed his father actually had an expression close to smiling. Merlin, was he drunk?

"Of course. I think she and Draco would be perfect, don't you? She already dotes on him so much." Narcissa was gushing as she absentmindedly patted Draco's head. "What do you think, Draco?"

Draco's only response was to grimace at his mother, who smiled distractedly. "Perhaps we should arrange a contract between the Parkinsons sometime. We could hold the wedding right here in the manor! Pansy would do very well in white; it can't be much worse on her than pink." Draco nearly had a heart attack. Both his parents, making jokes? Had someone spiked the pumpkin juice?

"Perhaps," replied Lucius, who already seemed otherwise preoccupied. "Well, good night." He left the entrance hall. With a small smile, Narcissa followed him. Draco made his way back to his room, pondering on the strange feeling that had bloomed in his chest. Normally at the mention of marriage, he simply felt irritated at the way his parents approached it –more like a negotiation than a commitment. But now he was feeling oddly nervous. Surely his parents wouldn't force him into a marriage with Pansy? She was his good friend, but she had the intellect of a chair and would probably drive him crazy. No –she definitely would.

As Draco loosened his tie and flopped down on his bed, fully dressed in the charcoal gray suit his mother had bought for him, he pondered on this newfound nervousness, and his heart took him in a direction he did not like at all. Underneath his thoughts of Pansy's insufferable attitude, there was that image of brown eyes and a smile that made him feel rather… tingly. Exhausted from the night's activities, Draco's last conscious thought was that she couldn't have anything to do with his nervousness over marriage… could she?

**xxxxx**

_A/N. Somehow I feel this chapter doesn't have the same vibe as all the previous ones. It's actually a happy chapter. But I've been feeling rather sorry for Draco, and I wanted to give him some lighthearted moments in this fic. Was this chapter too long and winding and boring? I promise the next chapter will pick up a bit, action-wise. Or I'll try to make it that way. Was the camaraderie of the "Tormenting Trio" too weird? Is the fact that they're being nice totally ruining this fic? If anyone's still reading this, please let me know what you think! R&R, much appreciated!_


	18. Kings Cross Thoughts and Conversations

_A/N. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! In less than a month I've jumped from 12 to 40. Wow. Thanks for all the compliments you guys give me. I'm really glad you all like the story. Sorry for the delay in updating; Physics is a bitch. I'll try to update at least once a week. Your loyalty and patience will be much appreciated!_

_Chapter time!_

**xxxxx**

JANUARY 3rd. 205 DAYS AGO.

The morning of Draco's departure back to Hogwarts, his father called him into the drawing room. Knowing full well what his father wanted, he delayed the confrontation for as long as he could. He packed slowly, taking his time in folding everything, even if he could easily pack with his wand. Finally, after Trilly came and informed him that his father was waiting for the third time, he got up and walked down the long, winding halls of Malfoy Manor to the drawing room where his father stood, waiting.

"Good morning, Father." Draco bowed stiffly to his father's back. "You summoned me?"

For a while, the room was silent. Draco remained bowed, his eyes never leaving the back of his father's head. Lucius continued to gaze out the window, his hands folded behind his back, the cobra-headed cane leaning against the wall next to him. Draco was momentarily irritated. If his father had called him here so insistently, shouldn't he be telling him why the bloody hell he'd been called here already?

"Severus and I have conversed over the holidays about your mission, Draco. We agreed that it was time you began making progress with it, as the school year is about half over and you are running out of time. He shall be expecting a report sometime soon, preferably within the next month, and he expects it to be… thorough." Lucius spoke to the window, apparently refusing to turn around and relay this to Draco's face. Draco straightened, his hands clenched into fists. "He will be informing me if no such report comes, and if I receive such a message, I will assume that you do not wish to report to Severus and I will come to Hogwarts myself to receive your information. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Father." Draco could sense the underlying threat in his father's words, which would not alarm any casual observer much. He knew his father would have no qualms forcing the information out of him, whether through torture or Veritaserum. He didn't know how to get out of this, but he had a month to figure something out.

"Off with you, then. I believe your mother is expecting you in the entrance hall." Lucius finally turned to face his son. His features were impassive, though his right hand gripped his cane tightly. "I will be expecting to hear from Severus by February."

Not wanting to draw out this conversation or remain in this tense atmosphere for much longer, Draco simply bowed and strode out of the room. Making his way back to his room, he found Trilly had already moved his trunk to the entrance hall. He looked around, at the large bed, the bare desk, the towering bookshelf. He always felt a little sad every time he left this room to go back to school. He would miss the privacy it gave him, the silence. With one last glance, to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, he went to the entrance hall.

"Good morning, Mother." He found Narcissa sitting in one of the ornate chairs near the hall closet, her eyes on his trunk and broom. For a moment he saw something glistening on her cheek –was she crying? –but she turned to him and he saw her face was dry, though he could have sworn he saw her reach into her pocket before standing. His mother was never one for showing her true emotions; living all these years with Lucius had seen to that. Briefly he felt sorry for her, for a woman who could be so much more than she was now. He wondered where she would be if she hadn't married his father.

"Draco. Have you packed everything? Nothing left behind?" Narcissa smiled weakly at him.

"I've checked my room. I don't seem to have left anything."

"Good. We'll be seeing you during the summer holidays, then." Narcissa continued to smile, though there was sadness in her eyes. Draco crossed the room toward her and, a little uncomfortably, kissed her cheek. She patted his head, cupped his chin, and looked into his eyes for a moment, and in hers Draco could see turmoil. He realized she didn't want him to go back, and he didn't want to either, but they both had no choice. It was this or the alternative, which was imprisonment in the Manor, or death. Though the alternative would probably lead to a drawn-out, painful death in the end, anyway.

"Good bye, Mother." Draco stepped back and moved toward the door, where Trilly was waiting. When he placed his hand on the doorknob, he suddenly wondered if maybe –just maybe- he could turn around and take his mother with him and run away, somewhere far away, where Lucius and his reign of terror and torture could not find them. The thought burned bright in his mind and for a moment he was scared he would really do so –but the fire faded. There was no way they could hide, not from Lucius, not from Voldemort.

"Be good, Draco." His mother's voice was hesitant. "And please listen to your father." Suddenly, all sympathy toward his mother faded. So much was resting on his shoulders. Without another word, Draco wrenched the door open and strode down to the Ministry car waiting to take him to Kings Cross Station, Trilly toddling in his wake with his luggage. Opportunities lay out in front of him, beckoning him –opportunities to run away and not return to Hogwarts and try to make a life on his own, out there in the world. He took none of them. Instead, he got into the car, slammed the door, and leaned back into the seat, closing his eyes. He heard the trunk slamming, and the chauffeur getting into the car, and soon the smooth vibrations and the hum of the engine (or whatever was in these magical cars; he didn't really know) were lulling him to sleep.

**xxxxx**

_I don't understand._

_He was standing in the drawing room. Everything seemed so much bigger, so much more intimidating. He blinked, wiggled his toes. His body felt out of proportion. He was looking up at his mother and father, but they towered over him. His father's expression was severe, his mother's worried._

_It is simple, Draco. These Muggle-born witches and wizards are beneath us._

_Why?_

_It is in their blood, Draco. Mud blood. Dirty blood. They have magic but they do not come from magical families._

_And that makes them different?_

_It makes them filth._

_Filth. Was he dreaming or remembering, or both? This all felt so familiar, but he couldn't tell when it had happened._

_Why?_

_Draco…_

_Silence, Narcissa._

_His father was bending down, placing a hand on his shoulder._

_Listen, Draco. We are a pure-blooded family. Magical blood has run through the Malfoy veins for generations. There is no non-magical member of our family –or none that we care to acknowledge. We have married only other purebloods, to carry down the magic from parent to child. Our ancestors fought for their magic, back in the olden times. These Mudbloods, they do not have that proud history. Magic will just suddenly appear in them. They do not truly understand what it means to be a wizard. They do not deserve this power. They are born of non-magical families, which makes their blood dirty._

_I don't understand._

_Tears were pricking in his eyes._

_Lucius, he's only a boy. He's not old enough to understand._

_I told you to be silent, Narcissa!_

_Not old enough. He remembered. He was five, and his father was giving him the first of many lectures about the evils of having Mudbloods in the magical community. His father had made certain to impress these prejudices upon him at a young age, so he would have time to drill the maxims into his head, readying him for school life. Slytherin life._

_You must understand this, Draco. To be a pureblood means to have this proud ancestry, to truly deserve the magic that runs in our veins. It means countless generations of full-blooded wizards have fought to keep this magic alive. Mudbloods are the children of Muggles, of non-magical people, who did not do anything at all to deserve such power. They did not fight for it. They do not deserve it. That is why you are superior to them._

_Lucius…_

_Do you understand, Draco?_

_He sniffled, backing away almost imperceptibly from the tall man before him. Draco heard his father's noise of impatience, saw his hand grip the cobra head tighter. His mother immediately put her hand on his arm. The grip did not loosen, but the hand did no further than hold._

_Draco?_

_No, thought the older Draco, in the haze of his dream-filled mind. You're wrong. Being born of a non-magical family doesn't make you any less of a wizard. But his five-year-old self did not know what his present-day self did, and so little Draco only nodded tearfully, not yet fully comprehending what his father was trying to tell him._

_Good. You are a pure-blooded wizard, Draco, from one of the most respected and powerful families in this world. You must be proud of being a Malfoy, because it means you are above other wizards. Our name commands respect, fear and subordination. Our blood demands higher status. Do you understand?_

_Yes, Father._

_Never forget who you are, and what your blood means. You are a pureblood. You are a Malfoy._

**xxxxx**

_Malfoy._

"Mr. Malfoy?

_You are a Malfoy._

"Mr. Malfoy? Sir?" Something tapped his shoulder lightly and he jolted awake. "Sir? We've arrived at the station."

Draco sat up groggily. Apparently he'd slept through most of the trip. He stepped out of the car door being held open for him by the chauffeur, squinting in the afternoon sun. The driver had already brought out his luggage for him; there was a trolley nearby where they were loaded. Nodding in thanks, he strode over to it. The chauffeur nodded back and got into the car and drove off, leaving Draco standing alone at the entrance to the train station.

He wheeled his trolley inside, searching for that column between platforms nine and ten. Sure enough, there were wizards and witches swarming around it, waiting for their turn to pass through the magical barriers. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as he had every time he came here. He didn't understand why the Muggles didn't notice people disappearing into columns before their very eyes. Non-magical people could be so stupid.

Finally the crowd thinned and Draco managed to actually _see _the column he was supposed to run into. He closed his eyes, bracing himself. No matter how many times he'd done this, it still made him nervous. He was about to run into a brick column that looked perfectly solid, for the love of Merlin. Whose bright idea was that? His hands gripped the trolley handles as he steeled himself to walk through to the platform.

"Draco?" His eyes flew open at that familiar voice. He turned, and sure enough, there she was, walking toward him. "I thought I recognized that mop of blond hair."

"Er… hello," he greeted her uneasily, glancing up at one of the station's nearby clocks. It was 11:50. They needed to enter the barrier soon, but Draco was hesitant. He knew that the minute he stepped onto Platform 9 ¾, he had to go back to pretending he hated her.

"Funny, I've never seen you on the Platform before." She wheeled her trolley up next to his.

"Mm," he said, not knowing what to reply to that. 11.51.

"How were your holidays?" The two of them stood awkwardly in front of the column, drawing curious gazes from passersby. Hermione smiled up at him, oblivious. Or perhaps uncaring. Draco couldn't really tell. 11:52. He couldn't think of a way to prolong this conversation, which would inevitably end in 8 minutes. He thought of inviting her to sit with him in a compartment… but no, that would mean the school would see them together. He'd already been beat up once over the holidays; he didn't want Potty and Weasel to have a reason to do it as well.

"How were yours?" he replied, avoiding her question.

"They were all right. I bought new books." Merlin, what was wrong with him? What about this girl was making him so tongue-tied? For a few moments longer they stood there, shifting their feet, not really looking at each other. Then Hermione smiled up at him. 11:54. "Well, see you in school, Draco." She began to walk away from him, move toward the column, and Draco found he didn't want her to leave him. As the tip of her trolley drew closer to the red bricks he finally remembered that they were both prefects and prefects had special reserved compartments at the head of the train (usually empty). Hastily he reached out and grabbed her arm just before her trolley passed through the magical barrier.

"Wait." The urgency in his voice surprised him, and stopped her as well. She turned to him, her eyebrows raised. "Would you, er…" His voice trailed off as his nerve started to fade. He inhaled and the whole question came out in a rush with his breath. "Dyouwansitwimetoday?"

"I'm sorry?"

_Damnit, that didn't come out right._

"Do you want to sit with me today?" Slower. Carefully pronouncing each word. "We could sit in one of the prefects' compartments. They're… better."

She studied him, and for a moment, she looked like she was about to say no. But then she smiled. "Let me just tell Harry and Ron." Draco's heart flooded with relief. 11:55.

He stepped back to let her through first, then followed as soon as her robes whipped out of sight. He took in another deep breath _(Merlin, couldn't they think of a less daunting way of getting on to the platform? Maybe a secret entrance in the loos?), _and strode in after her. The platform was packed as always, but Draco quickly caught sight of Blaise and Pansy, who seemed to be looking for him. Catching Blaise's eye, he mouth the word "prefects" at him, and thankfully his friend just nodded. He quickly ducked out of sight before Pansy could spot him and stalk over to demand an explanation as to why he wasn't sitting with her.

When he reached the prefects compartments, he found they were as empty as expected. It was a privilege rarely taken advantage of; the prefects' compartments had tinted door glass, better seats and bigger luggage racks, but since only prefects could sit there, most of them simply sat with their friends in regular compartments. He walked through, trying to select a compartment, but then saw she was already there, waiting for him. Smiling, he entered the compartment.

"Shouldn't it be the other way around? I'm pretty sure in the laws that govern the relationships between boys and girls, the boy should be waiting for the girl," he commented, lifting up his trunk to the luggage racks overhead.

She laughed. "It's all about equality now, Draco. I'm perfectly capable of waiting for you if I choose to." Something about the way she said it made his heart race. Was she flirting with him or just being nice? Why were decent girls so hard to read? He felt his cheeks heat up and ducked his head quickly, looking out the window to hide the blush that was probably there. "Something wrong?" she asked.

"I'm still not used to this," he admitted sheepishly.

"Used to what?"

"Us." He gestured to both of them. "Talking. Laughing. You calling me Draco. This… whatever this is."

"Friendship?" She was trying not to laugh; the corners of her lips were twitching.

Draco's heart thudded erratically in his chest at the word. They'd never labeled their relationship before this. Draco hadn't been able to say for himself if they were really friends or just civil acquaintances. Hearing it come from her was… reassuring, and pleasant. He smiled back at her and nodded, and settled into the seat opposite her. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this train ride in a way he never had before.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. I edited the chapter a bit, since I wasn't too happy with the previous version either. I agree with the criticism saying the encounters between Draco and Hermione can get a bit repetitive, so this is my way of changing it and giving Draco, as a reviewer said, "a pair." I do hope this version is better, but if you still don't like it, review me to let me know! And if any of you have Dramione chapter fics or one-shots to recommend (that aren't already on my favorites page), put them here too!_


	19. On the Hogwarts Express

_A/N. Thanks so much to those who reviewed! Quick note __**–in case you didn't get alerted or didn't get to see it, I edited the last chapter.**__ If you didn't read, I suggest you go back and do so, because you'll get confused with this one. I apologize for any inconvenience or resentment on your part. I was just trying to better the story._

_Special thanks to my-silver-lining for your sincere and well-put review (even if it __**was **__incredibly long, haha!). You gave me good criticism and I find I agree with what you said, hence my changing the previous chapter. Criticism can be as good as praise, so to the rest of my readers, don't hesitate to tell me if something's confusing or boring or off. Please and thank you!_

**xxxxx**

"How did- What spell was that? How did you do that? Draco –Oh, stop laughing, will you! Draco Malfoy, you will teach me that spell!"

Draco laughed and ducked as she swatted at him, and tucked away his wand, having just produced a rose made entirely out of water droplets. It looked fairly impressive with the afternoon sun coming in through the windows, spilling onto the flower and reflecting everywhere –even setting off a rainbow on the compartment floor. A little while back, Hermione had decided to practice some of the spells in her new books, and he hadn't been able to resist showing her up. For once, it looked like he'd managed to.

Much to his surprise and delight, the train ride hadn't been as bad as he'd thought. Hermione proved to be as intelligent as her reputation promised, and more. They'd spent the past few hours engaged in conversation over all kinds of topics –wizard history, school, house-elf rights, even politics. Hermione had indeed been surprised when he'd informed her of the working conditions of house-elves at Malfoy Manor ("but they're still not being paid, and that's one of the most important parts!"), but had confessed that it made her pleased. She'd surprised Draco in turn by having fair knowledge of Quidditch –and he had laughed heartily when she admitted, embarrassed, that plenty of it was due to Krum ("he doesn't make it as boring or as enthusiastic as Harry and Ron would; the way those two would carry on, you'd think they were being paid for it"). He found speaking with her to be highly stimulating –something that didn't always happen in the Slytherin common room. And of course, it had given him utmost satisfaction to see the expression on her face when she found out she wasn't the only person at school who'd read _Hogwarts, A History._

"What _was _that spell?" She'd calmed down some, and was sitting down next to him, breathing heavily but smiling.

"It's just a parlor trick one of my more humorous relatives taught me." He caught sight of the expression on her face and cocked an eyebrow. "What? You don't think we Malfoys can be humorous?"

"Well up until a few weeks ago I thought your sense of humor consisted entirely of bad jokes about Gryffindors, so forgive me if I'm a little surprised." There it was again, that quick wit and impeccable delivery that had kept Draco on his toes ever since he'd sat down. He had never met a witch or wizard quite like her, at least not of their age.

"For your information, we can be very funny at times. You just have to get to know us to see it."

"Tell me a joke, then," she challenged, smirking. Draco was floored. _Guess I walked into that one, _he thought. He cast about his mind for a joke, any joke, but drew up blank. "What's the matter?" The corners of her mouth twitched.

"I'll get one in a minute, just wait," he said with as much disdain as he could muster. He tried to think of something Blaise had told him recently. There was that blonde joke –but it was too lewd to mention in Hermione's presence. Oh, Merlin, she had him.

"You don't have a joke." She was fighting to stop laughing now.

"Er… why does the chicken cross the road?"

"Merlin, Draco, that's an ancient Muggle joke."

"Three witches walk into a bar?"

"I think Ron's told me every possible variation of that."

"A troll walks into a school?"

"After Halloween of first year, that isn't funny anymore." Draco scowled and Hermione laughed, which promptly smoothed out his brow. He'd heard that laugh so much today but he hadn't gotten tired of it, nor of eliciting it. It was just so… refreshing. It was a welcome change from Pansy's usual high-pitched shriek or Blaise's cackle, and especially from Crabbe's and Goyle's gormless chuckles. Her laugh lightened something inside of him, as if little by little she was wearing down the weight inside of him and replacing it with happiness. And for once he hadn't thought about the repercussions of their companionship today. It scared him to know that little by little she was getting under his skin, climbing over the walls to his heart, but he wasn't about to stop her. They were friends. Having her as a friend was good.

"Do _you _know any jokes?" He eyed her out of the corner of his eye and was delighted to see her cheeks turn pink.

"I can't deliver a joke. I mess up the punchlines and I'm usually too serious."

"And you hold _my _humor in contempt." He ducked as she swatted at him again, and laughed.

"You never fail to surprise me, Draco." Her voice had quieted, the levity still there but thinned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He turned to her, putting on a show of great offence by putting a hand to his chest, his mouth open in pretend shock. She laughed a little.

"I didn't know you could be this… nice." She turned away and Draco studied her profile. Merlin, she was pretty. "You always used to pick on us Gryffindors mercilessly, and you never called me anything but 'Mudblood' or 'Granger.' And all your insinuations…"

Draco flinched. Of course a few weeks of lighthearted banter weren't enough to erase years of torment. Trying to crack a few jokes wasn't going to make up for everything he'd done. Something turned in his stomach and he blinked when he realized he was feeling guilty. "I was really bad, wasn't I?"

"You were horrible." She gave a hollow little laugh.

"But now?" His voice was strangled. What was she trying to say?

"I like you much better now." She turned to him, a smile tugging up the corners of her mouth, though her eyes were still sad. The afternoon sun played on her hair and glinted off the deep brown of her eyes and made her skin glow. Without realizing it, Draco put out his hand, tucked an unruly strand of her hair behind her ear. The sun on her skin prevented him from seeing her blush at the gesture.

"I like me much better now, too." It was the truth, though it was the first time he was admitting it, even to himself. But over the holidays he'd done a lot of thinking, and he knew that statement to hold true. He knew there was no way he could ever return to being the arrogant, narrow-minded blighter he used to be, but he didn't regret it. Especially not if it meant he could be friends with the girl smiling up at him here, in the secluded prefects' compartment.

He found himself gazing at her, at the way the sun illuminated her cheeks, picked out her hair in gold; at the curve of her lips and of her neck as she threw her head back in laughter; at the ski-jump of her nose and the slight hollows in her cheek. He found himself mesmerized by the little flecks of gold in her eyes. He found himself leaning forward ever so slowly, the red of her lips so inviting. He found himself stopping, blinking; coming to.

"Draco?" She was peering at him, curious, probably wondering what the hell he was doing.

"Sorry. I was lost in thought for a while."

"Well come back to me." She laughed and sent Draco's heart racing so fast he thought it might outrun the train. _Come back to me. _Merlin, what was this girl doing to him?

A yawn and a sudden weight on his shoulder made him look beside him. Hermione was slumped against him, her eyes blinking sleepily. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Train rides make me sleepy."

"It's all right." He shifted a little to make her more comfortable, and soon she was fast asleep. He almost laughed when she started making little whistling noises. For the rest of the trip he stayed as still as he could, so as not to wake her up. He preoccupied himself with one of her spell books, Summoned from the other side of the compartment. He read until the Hogwarts Express began to slow down, and the conductor magically announced that they were approaching the Hogsmeade station. He read to keep himself from being bored; to stay awake to enjoy the feel of her head on his shoulder; and to distract himself from thoughts of what he'd almost done, leaning forward to those soft, red lips.

**xxxxx**

The train pulled into the station and Draco softly shook the sleeping girl awake. "Hermione," he whispered. "Wake up. We're here." She grumbled, sat up, rubbed her eyes sleepily. "Good morning, princess." He smirked at her slightly disheveled appearance. How long ago had he teased her about looking like a mess?

"We're here?"

"I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Granger," he said in mock arrogant tones. "I do believe I just said we'd arrived."

"Shut up, _Malfoy," _she replied, stretching. While she woke herself up, he took down their trunks. "Thanks," she said, obviously pleased by his gentlemanly gesture. "Though I could have done that myself."

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady do something so strenuous?" He bowed to her a little.

"One who advocates equality, that's what." She took the handle of her trunk from him, rolling her eyes but smiling. "Honestly, are you always this old-fashioned?"

"That's how I was brought up." He raised his eyebrows at her. She raised hers back but made no reply. They stood there for a moment, the noises of their fellow students reaching even all the way here. Draco realized they'd have to part here, since they couldn't exactly be seen together. It would raise too many questions that they couldn't answer.

"Well… I'll see you around school, I guess." She smiled tightly at him. She made as if to –Draco couldn't interpret her gesture. Touch him? Hug him? Do what he hadn't had the balls to do a while back? But she just waved, and left the compartment, leaving Draco feeling like he'd been left hanging for something, though he hadn't know what to expect.

After what felt like a decent amount of time, Draco left the compartment as well, but not without a wistful backward glance. The trip had been enjoyable, and it had made him happy. He couldn't recall a time where he'd had such intellectual stimulation and witty exchanges, or when he'd enjoyed himself more. It seemed this… friendship with Hermione wouldn't be so bad after all. She was, without a doubt, his equal.

"Draco! Mate! Were you locked up in those prefect compartments the _whole _trip? Because you owe me, mate. Pansy kept moaning on and on about how much she missed you and how you and she would make a perfect couple. I swear, I'm going to hurl if she tells me one more the time _precise _shade of dark blonde your children's hair will be." Blaise's voice drifted over from behind him and he turned to see the face of his grinning friend. "Never again, Draco. You owe me so much."

"How about I hook you up with a girl, then? Give her the old Malfoy charm and tell her you're ten times a better lover?" He grinned back.

"I wouldn't mind that. Make it a pretty girl, though. I don't want to date the likes of Millicent Bulstrode." Blaise mimed gagging. Draco laughed, and they made their way up to the castle.

"Seriously though, mate," Blaise said as they reached the entrance hall. "I was sort of expecting you to come back maybe halfway into the trip, moaning about how prefects get all sorts of ridiculous duties. What kept you?"

Draco hesitated, standing under the archway that led into the castle, finding a good way to answer that question. "I fell asleep. The prefects' compartments are pretty bloody comfortable."

"I bet. Makes me wonder what the ones for Head Boy and Girl are like." Glad his friend hadn't become suspicious, Draco joined in on the laughter. His relief dispelled rather quickly, however, when he looked up and saw Professor Snape standing at the landing to the grand staircase, his face impassive, watching him. The Potions Master gave him the tiniest nod, but Draco chose not to acknowledge it, and trudged toward the dungeons. A month. He had a month to come up with something so he wouldn't have to betray Hermione. He tried to assuage his nerves. A month was plenty of time. He'd come up with something.

**xxxxx**

NOW.

Oh, how wrong I was.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. So… was that better? Was this whole Draco/Hermione banter thing too weird? Was any of it believable? Is the quality of this story spiraling down the drain? Am I being too insecure about my writing? HAHAHA. Again, if you read the previous chapter before it was updated, please read it first (though placing this disclaimer at the end of this chapter is kind of fail… but whatever). Reviews will be much appreciated! Please and thank you!_


	20. A Hogsmeade Visit

_A/N. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You guys make me so happy. :D This is officially my most reviewed fanfic, haha. I'll try to stop being so insecure about my writing now. Many thanks to my-silver-lining for the honest and thorough reviews, and to Cecilia1204 for your reviews and recommendations. Actually, if you guys want more Dramione, I highly recommend the fics listed in my favorites page, particularly Linked, Aurelian, Their Room and the Charon's Gift trilogy._

_A word of warning, though. Quite a few of the fics listed there are smut._

_Chapter time now!_

**xxxxx**

JANUARY 10th. 195 DAYS AGO.

Breakfast at the Great Hall was noisier than usual, as students chatted about their holidays and caught up with each other's lives. Over at the Slytherin table, however, one person sat, only opening his mouth to let in food. Draco ate his meal in silence, nodding every so often at some remark of Blaise's or Pansy's, or rolling his eyes in disgust at the eat habits of Crabbe, Goyle and Marcus Flint. It was only a few days into the new year and already he wanted to kick the bucket. It had to be a record.

The buzz toned down when Dumbledore stood up and clapped his hands. Almost every head turned to look at the headmaster. Draco continued to poke at his bacon with his wand, idly trying to set it on fire.

"Welcome back, students!" Dumbledore's voice thundered through the hall. "Another year has begun, giving us more opportunities to move forward, alter our ways, better ourselves and strive for the best. Now, this isn't to say that you shouldn't be doing that the rest of the year," and here he chuckled. "But I do understand the tradition of a new year signaling starting over." He clapped his hands. "Now, a few announcements to make! I do realize breakfast is a tad early to be making them, but the holidays have deprived me of speaking this loudly to all of you and I was rather excited to do so." He laughed heartily with the students. "Mr. Filch would like me to remind you that over the holidays, he has extended the list of banned objects, and that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason. I would also like to remind you that magic in the corridors between classes is not allowed. Finally, there is a Hogsmeade trip coming up this weekend, open to third years and above. Remember, no permission slip, no trip!" He chuckled at the little rhyme, and Draco, who was paying attention by now, caught Professor McGonagall shaking her head slightly beside Dumbledore. The headmaster glanced down at her and coughed in embarrassment. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

Breakfast began to end as the students filtered out of the hall a few at a time. Draco continued to poke at his food for a bit, but seeing Pansy and Blaise getting ready to leave for their first class of the morning (they had many classes in common; Transfiguration was their first), he got up as well, pushing away a half-eaten plate of food. On the way out of the Great Hall, a hand gripped his shoulder and he spun around, ready to draw his wand but then thought better of it when he saw who stopped him.

It was Snape.

"I trust your father has spoken to you about the conversation he and I had over the holidays, Draco?" Dark eyes bore into Draco's, and he gritted his teeth, nodding once. "Then I expect you to be making progress soon. You will meet me after the Hogsmeade trip to make your first report." There was a sinister undertone to that voice, and Draco was struck by sudden unease. He hadn't been able to come up with anything yet, and two days was hardly enough time to try and do so. But not wanting to show his apprehension to Snape, who would be clever enough to pick up and put two and two together, he simply nodded again and strode off. Two days. How would he get out of this?

**xxxxx**

"Oh, let's go to Honeydukes next!"

"Fancy a butterbeer?"

"Zonko's has new products, let's take a look!"

The sounds of students enjoying their day off surrounded Draco as he made his way through Hogsmeade alone, wrapped up against the January chill. He'd left the Slytherins he'd come with at the Three Broomsticks; their mindless prattle had been grating at his nerves. Hearing Pansy's flirtations and Blaise's lewd comments and Flint's nonsensical Quidditch speeches had been making him want to stab himself with a fork just for an excuse to get away. In the end, though, he'd simply muttered something about getting some air and had stood up and left.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't stay."

The tone and content of that last remark Draco caught made him look around. He recognized that voice, but couldn't find the person it belonged to. A group of wide-eyed third year Hufflepuffs moved past and he caught sight of brown hair. She was stalking away from a flabbergasted Harry. He watched her walk off in the direction of the Shrieking Shack, and turned to see Harry duck into a nearby tea shop. Curious (and admittedly slightly worried about Hermione), he hurried off in the direction Hermione took.

He found her at the fence bordering the Shrieking Shack, and felt his gut clench at the thought of their last encounter here (which hadn't ended well for him and his companions). She was leaning against the fence, hugging herself –against the cold, or for comfort? She didn't look around as he approached her, his mind full of doubt at his actions. Why had he come here?

"Are you all right?" The breeze that had picked up blew his words toward her and she whipped around, her hand going to her pocket. But when she saw it was him, she visibly relaxed, which surprised Draco. She rubbed at her face before answering.

"I'm fine." She sighed. Her face was blotchy, though that could have been from the cold, but she gave a telltale sniffle and Draco knew she was crying. Slowly he closed the distance between him, until he stood awkwardly in front of her, unsure of what he should do. He'd never really comforted anyone before. Did you touch them somehow? Pat them on the back, maybe? Or the head? And what did you say?

"What happened?" he asked at last. It was a start.

She laughed, sniffled again. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Because it does."

"Oh come off it. You're bloody Draco Malfoy. You've never given a rat's ass about me before." The callousness of her words struck him, but he also understood that this bitterness was not for him. She went back to leaning on the fence, staring at the shack some distance away. Tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on her arm. She made no movement to acknowledge it, but neither did she shake him off, and Draco took that as a good sign.

"I do now."

His words were quiet, measured, but inside him there was turmoil. What he'd said was true, and he knew it. And it scared him. He'd never felt like this with anyone, not ever. He'd never cared for someone so much, or wanted to make sure someone was all right. A few months ago, the sight of Hermione had aroused in him a curiosity to know why. Now it inspired the urge to beat into a pulp whoever had hurt her. And to console her in whatever way he could. This was all so confusing.

She looked at him for a long while, as if gauging the sincerity of his words. Finally, she turned away and looked at the leaves making imprints in what was left of the snow. "It was Ron."

"The Weasel git? What's he done to you now?" It was the first acknowledgement between them of what Draco had seen in Hermione's head. Other than a slight tightening of her lips, she gave away no sign of displeasure or anger.

"Oh, he just brought along his new girlfriend to the Hogsmeade trip that was just supposed to be me, Harry and him. As if he hadn't broken my heart enough." She spat out the last sentence, her arms tightening around her torso, knocking off Draco's hand. The emotions in her words stirred something in Draco, and as he watched her fight back tears, he began to recognize what he was feeling. There was concern, of course; it was why he came up here in the first place. Curiosity as well. There was anger, the feeling of wanting to hex that git for making her sad. And… Draco couldn't quite place the last feeling. It was something he hadn't really felt before, something utterly new to him. It made him want to claw Weasely's eyes out, but not for hurting Hermione. It made him want to get Hermione to forget Weasel's name. He watched as despair slowly took over Hermione and it dawned on him.

He was jealous.

He was jealous of that Weasel git for being loved by a girl as incredible as the one who stood before him. He was jealous of the fact that he could break her heart, because it meant that she had given it to him. And he was jealous of the fact that she could be so broken up about losing his love to another girl. Draco was fairly sure that if Hermione saw him kissing Pansy, the most she would feel was disgust.

Merlin, what was she doing to him?

He shook his head, turned his attention back to the matter at hand. She was struggling to suppress her tears now, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. He stared at her, at her misery, and his arms began to move of their own accord. First it was his hand on her arm. Then her shoulder. Then his arm around her. Then the other arm was reaching up, and before he knew it, he was folding her into his arms, holding her against him. Hugging her. He could smell the lemon in her hair and a faint scent of lavender, and could feel her pulse beating wildly through their sweaters. A sob hitched in her chest and he held her tighter. The sensation of her body against his wasn't unpleasant at all. It lightened him somehow. Hesitantly, he pressed his cheek to her hair. It was cold, but he didn't draw away. The sobs began to come now, escaping her in gasps and spasms, and she clutched at him. He held her up, held her to him, and little snow flurries dotted them, but Draco didn't care. The world seemed to have disappeared but for him and this girl he held in his arms and the grief he wanted so badly to assuage.

They stood there for a long time, not speaking, the only sound coming from her as she cried. She felt so fragile, just then, so vulnerable. Draco was astonished at the way he'd reacted toward her sadness, he felt no need to pull away. Eventually, the sobs stopped, fading into the occasional sniffle, but she stayed where she was. For a long moment, all was quiet. Just as Draco was about to ask if she was all right, he felt a pair of arms make their way uncertainly around his waist. His eyes went wide, but he said nothing, and neither did she. The sky darkened around them, and the wind whipped at their clothes and hair, and the snow piled around them, but they simply stood there, arms around each other. And when she finally pulled away and smiled up at him, her cheeks pink, Draco found he was pained by the loss of her touch. They made their way back to the castle in silence, a comfortable distance away, though no students were around anymore to witness their unlikely pairing. Occasionally they would look at each other and smile. At the Great Hall, they parted without a word, and when Draco reached the dormitory and collapsed on his bed, he could still feel a pair of arms pressing into his back, holding him to a warm, slender body that he never, in his wildest dreams, would have imagined would be pressed against his.

**xxxxx**

"Now then, Draco. Have you managed to find out anything at all, or are you really as incompetent as your father made you out to be?"

Draco was seething. He'd been about to fall asleep, hoping for pleasant dreams, when a loud pop sounded next to his bed. It had been a note from Snape, reminding him of their meeting tonight. Momentarily he'd considered skipping it and sleeping, but had felt that the Potion Master's wrath was not worth it. Besides, who knew what he'd tell Lucius. He could have Draco's father storming into the castle tomorrow, demanding information, and Draco didn't want to risk his father finding out anything that had happened to him recently.

"I was unable to find anything useful," he replied, gazing at a bottle on Snape's desk. It looked like a pickled banana. Actually, maybe it was. "It was usually too crowded for me to even attempt. The few times I did, I did not end up getting very far. I'll attempt at another time, perhaps when they are more vulnerable."

"You are running out of time, Draco." Snape's eyes narrowed, and his voice grew soft and sinister. It reminded Draco so much of his father's voice, all venom and velvet. For a moment he felt like punching Snape, but he forced himself to remain composed. It wouldn't help his case to lose his cool. "Potter is turning seventeen soon, and the Dark Lord means to move in on him by then. I suggest that if you wish to aid the Dark Lord's endeavor, you do so quickly. You have managed to perform well enough in your classes, have you not? It should not be difficult to apply such… _competency _to activities outside the classroom." The condescension in Snape's voice was audible, and Draco balled his hands into fists to restrain himself.

"I realize that, Professor," he forced out through gritted teeth. Snape looked at him for a moment, then moved to stand opposite him.

"Well then, let us see if your holidays have not managed to dull your mind. Take out your wand."

_Bloody hell, _Draco swore in his head. He'd hoped the meeting wouldn't include this. Draco had been working on closing his mind over the vacation, but he wasn't confident in his skills, never having been formally lectured on or taught Occlumency. And after today… he didn't want to risk Snape getting a peek at his memories, for fear of what he might see. But if he refused, the professor might very well find a way to force him. Reluctantly he drew his wand, hoping that whatever strength was in him would be enough.

"Begin."

_Legilimens, _he thought with all his might, hoping his practice in non-verbal spells would pay off. For a moment nothing happened, but then he felt the beginnings of something form in his mind. He shut his eyes, focusing, willing his mind to form an attack against Snape. His arm began to shake as he gripped his wand tighter. Suddenly he felt the mental contact form, felt the barriers of Snape's mind. He sensed that they were weak. Snape had probably been expecting him to call out the spell as always. He felt a small tickle of grim satisfaction. He could one-up the old bat after all.

He pushed, and the barrier began to bend, and Snape's eyes narrowed as he realized that Draco was already attacking. The advantage Draco had gotten proved enough, though, and the barrier gave way-

_He was shooting down flies inside a small, filthy room. A battered trunk lay a few feet away, alongside a pair of worn boots. He was starving, but at the back of his mind he remembered he had no money with which to purchase food. He chucked his wand away in frustration, tightening the belt around his waist to stop the hunger pangs. He wondered where he could get a job, if there were any openings along Diagon Alley-_

Snape snarled, threw Draco back. Draco realized that was the furthest he'd ever gotten into Snape's head, and the small triumph gave him great strength. He pushed further-

_He was back in the library, watching the pretty red-haired girl again, but this time she was alone. He felt the need to approach her, to say something, but out of nowhere a boy with glasses and untidy hair took the chair next to her and struck up a conversation. He watched as the girl threw her head back in laughter and clenched his fists as the monster of jealousy reared its ugly head inside of him-_

Snape jerked his head to the side, trying to get Draco out of his head, but Draco refused to stop now, refused to fail-

_He was walking on the grounds by himself, passing by students who were chattering happily. He clutched his books tighter to his chest, trying to ignore the fact that he was the only one without a companion. Suddenly a ripping noise sounded from behind him and the bottom half of his robes dropped to the ground, exposing his threadbare drawers to the general population. At the same time, his body froze in place, his foot hanging in the air, caught in mid-step. A handsome boy bounded in front of him, with a laugh that sounded like a bark, calling out Snivellus-_

Snape thrust his wand forward and Draco was thrown from his mind with a force that sent him falling to the floor. Through the haze that had formed in his mind he could see the Potions Master turn his wand on to him-

_He was ten and his father was whipping him for accidentally causing the teapot to explode through magic, dousing his father in its scalding contents-_

_He was thirteen and Pansy was wrapping a strand of his hair around her fingers, her other hand moving slowly down his chest as he tried not to shudder in revulsion-_

_He was fifteen and once again the Ministry witch was gazing up at him with lifeless eyes-_

_It was snowing and a pair of arms was wrapped around his waist and his cheek was pressed into lemon-scented brown hair, and she was pulling away and starting to look up-_

_No, _Draco thought, trying to push Snape away, _that's private, you can't see that, not her-_

_But she was looking up and her eyes turned to his and they were warm and smiling-_

"NO!" Draco wrenched his mind away with great effort. He lay on the floor where he'd fallen, panting, afraid to meet the gaze of the man standing before him. Had he recognized her? What would he make of it?

"Draco." There it was. The soft, dangerous voice. "Who was that?"

Draco's heart hammered in his chest as he forced himself to stay calm. "Just –a friend." That wasn't entirely a lie.

"A friend." There was an undercurrent to that statement that Draco picked up on but could not identify. Skepticism? Anger? He put his hand out to a nearby shelf, hesitated. When nothing happened, he pulled himself to his feet. Reluctantly he raised his head. Snape's expression was unfathomable, but his dark eyes glinted. They stared each other down for a long moment, and to Draco's astonishment, Snape was the first to look away, but not before Draco saw his expression change. It was fleeting, and Draco couldn't be certain, but it was almost as if Snape had looked… lonely.

"You may go."

Draco didn't hesitate. He picked up his wand and fled.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. So… what did you guys think? Enough romance for you? Are you scared for Draco because of Snape? R&R, let me know!_


	21. A Nighttime Flight

_A/N. 63 reviews. Damn, you guys really know how to make a girl feel loved! Thank you so much for your reviews, they really make my day. I hope I never disappoint!_

_Small clarification for anyone confused –this story is set in their sixth year, but it's out-of-context from the fifth book onward._

_I feel the need to warn you guys, though –we are a few chapters from the end of this fanfic. I never actually intended this to get too long, but it sort of just grew on its own! Regrettably, however, all stories must come to an end, but I'll definitely continue to write more fanfic in the future. Hopefully I'll see some familiar names in the reviews page then, haha!_

_But don't get all depressed now. Just sit back and enjoy the chapter, and the end will come when it will._

**xxxxx**

JANUARY 17th. 188 DAYS AGO.

"Tighter formation! No, not like that, Pucey, damnit. Those bloody Gryffindors will steal the Quaffle from you if you try to show off when you can't!"

Draco dove in frustration, snatching the Quaffle from Adrian Pucey and leveling out his broom in order to demonstrate the maneuver he wanted the Chasers to try. Quidditch training could be so exasperating, especially since he'd been made Captain. Gripping the Quaffle tightly so as not to drop it, he directed the other two chasers, Warrington and Vaisey, to fly parallel to each other, and dropped a little to fly underneath them. Still calling out orders, they swooped toward the Keeper in tight formation, Draco just a little lower with his head level with their elbows. At the last minute Draco sped up and swerved and tossed the Quaffle to Vaisey, who flung it in for a goal, Draco's swerve having distracted the Keeper, Bletchley. Having completed the maneuver, Draco turned back to Pucey. "Did you see that?"

Pucey just glared at him and nodded. Draco sighed. After putting in a few more drills, and sending Pucey to the hospital wing for being hit in the head by a stray Bludger, Draco called an end to the Quidditch practice. The team touched down but Draco stayed up in the air, watching them make the usual jokes about bloody Gryffindors and Mudbloods, and sighed. Finally, one by one, his team members left.

It wasn't that late into the night yet, and the pitch would remain lit until curfew, so Draco vented his frustrations by doing a few dives and spins around the field. Finally, after a few goes at a Wronski Feint (and almost killing himself in the process), he touched down, feeling just a little better than he had earlier.

It had been almost a week since he had held Hermione on that snowy afternoon in Hogsmeade, and they hadn't spoken yet. Their paths only crossed during class time, where they couldn't exactly strike up a conversation. Draco had tried visiting the library a few times but never found her there. Sometimes in the corridors their eyes would meet, and they would exchange small, hurried smiles, but that was as much as Draco could get. He kicked at the chest of Quidditch balls in frustration. This was the first time he'd ever been so messed up by a girl and it annoyed him to no end. He went out of his way to catch her in corridors; he started dressing a bit nicer for class. Sometimes he found himself thinking about her in his daydreams. Angrily he took off his Quidditch robes, relaxing a little as the cool night air touched his bare chest and blew at the loose pants he wore underneath. He was just about to put on his shirt when he heard a small squeal.

He quickly turned, wand out, expecting to see Pansy or some other of his "fans," as Blaise had termed them. Instead, he was met with darkness. Not lowering his guard, he surveyed the stands near him, and nearly burst out laughing when he spotted a very red-faced Hermione standing two stands away, ducking behind a book.

"Are you developing a new hobby? Stalking me around school?" He grinned, still not putting on his shirt just to tease her a little. She lowered her book a bit to glower at him and stick out her tongue, then lifted it back up so that it almost covered her eyes.

He chuckled, reveling in the fact that he could make her react this way. "What's the matter? Don't like what you see?" He raised his eyebrows and she retreated further behind the book.

"Just put a shirt on, _Malfoy," _she said, her voice stilted and muffled. Laughing still, but not wishing to truly irritate her, he put on his shirt.

"There. I'm decent." She peeked over the book and, obviously relieved that he was now fully clothed, walked over. "How long have you been watching?"

"Not very long, actually. You were the only one left on the pitch when I passed by the castle windows and saw you. You fly pretty well," she added as an afterthought, her cheeks still pink. Draco thought she looked endearing, and considered letting a Bludger loose so it could smack him on the head. It was girls who lost their heads around him, not the other way around. He was behaving like a moronic adolescent.

"And so you decided to come down here and peep at me while I changed," he commented dryly, watching her blush deepen. Merlin, she was a pretty sight. Seeing her bite her lip in embarrassment was making him forget he was tired or frustrated.

"How was I supposed to know I'd catch you without a shirt on," she countered hotly, and Draco felt the same urge he'd had in the prefects' compartment back on the Hogwarts Express. He laughed again to stop himself from following through, and sat down, rubbing his aching muscles. After a few moments, she came and sat next to him.

"Why _are _you here, though?" His question fell into the night air, hung between them. He didn't know what answer he was hoping for.

"I don't actually know. I was coming from the library. I saw you flying on your own from a castle window, and before I knew it, my feet were taking me here." She rubbed at her cheeks and Draco had to stop himself from stroking them to deepen her blush. "You really do fly well," she said again.

"Do you fly as well?" he asked, partly out of curiosity and partly to keep their conversation going. She shook her head. "Why not? I'd have thought with friends like Potter and Weasel, you would, at least on occasion." She mumbled something he didn't catch. "What?" he asked, frowning. She shook her head, her face turning beet red. "Come on, tell me." Tentatively he placed a hand on her knee. "Please?" He didn't think it was possible, but her face turned redder. His heart was starting to race.

"I'm afraid of heights," she finally whispered, turning her head away, and Draco bit his lip to keep from laughing. "And I keep thinking that I'll slip off the broom and fall."

"Have you ever tried?"

"Just once. After one of Harry's and Ron's Quidditch practices. I didn't get very high or go very far, I was too frightened." She laughed a little at herself.

Draco cocked his head a bit and looked at her. She met his gaze, her eyebrows raised. "Fly with me," he said impulsively. He didn't know where he was trying to go, but he _did _know that he didn't want to go back just yet and that there was a pretty girl next to him telling him she was afraid of flying. It felt like the right thing to do.

Her eyes widened. "I- I can't. It's already night time and I don't have any experience-" She broke off.

He got up, knelt in front of her, proffered his hand. "I won't let you fall," he said quietly. _Except for me, _he suddenly thought, and almost blushed as well. When the bloody hell had he turned into such a sap? He turned his attention back to her. She was starting to look like a tomato with hair. "You won't have anything to be afraid of." There was a long pause but Draco didn't put his hand down. He simply knelt there, waiting, steel eyes staring into brown eyes. She looked scared, but Draco caught a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion in her eyes. His heart thudded in his chest.

Finally, slowly, she placed her hand in his. Draco almost sighed in relief. He stood up and led her to where his broom lay. She hesitated, but moved forward when he smiled reassuringly at her. He picked it up and held it out. "Do you know how to get on?"

"Yes." Her voice was more high-pitched than usual. Draco steadied the broom as she slowly swung her leg over it. "But there's only one broom. What about you?"

"Oh, I think my broom is strong enough to carry both of us." And with that, he got on behind her and kicked off. She shrieked, and Draco laughed. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding onto the broom tightly with the other hand. They soared upward, until the castle came into view. The stars shone overhead and the breeze was cool and she was pressed against him, her hands gripping the broom for dear life. "You're closing your eyes, aren't you," he teased as he slowed down to a hover. She nodded slowly. His cheek was against her hair and the smell of lemons was intoxicating him. "Open them," he commanded, holding her to him securely.

"No."

He laughed quietly. "I told you. You have nothing to be afraid of. I'm here. I won't let you fall." He shifted his grip so his hand was around hers. There was a pause –and then she gasped.

"Wow," she breathed, and Draco silently agreed with her. The sky was clear and full of stars. The Forbidden Forest was white with snow. The castle stood in some distance away, bathed in the moonlight. Fireflies winked in and out of the darkness. Up here in just a shirt and pants, Draco felt the chill, but her body was warm against his. He had never understood why people didn't fly at this time. The view was breathtaking.

"Now aren't you glad I brought you up here?" He chuckled.

"Shut it, Draco."

"I'll take that as a yes." But her reaction warmed him. "Have you had enough?"

"Maybe just a little longer." He could tell from her voice that she was smiling and laughed again, flew over to the lake. He could feel her shaking in his arms. He brought them down slowly, until they were barely above the surface. When she whimpered, he turned, skirted the lake, following the shoreline. He kept their speed down, not wanting to scare her too much. Slowly, he felt her grip loosen on the broom, and a laugh escaped her lips. They were flying near the castle now. The lights inside were winking out, and Draco knew curfew was drawing near. He dipped, bringing them to the entrance of the castle. They hovered over the ground, and Draco found he was unwilling to let her go. For a while neither of them moved. Finally, Draco felt he couldn't delay it any longer and set them on the grass, withdrew his arm from her waist. They got off, stood there awkwardly. Draco couldn't think of anything to say.

"Thank you." She broke the silence, gazing at him, smiling. "That didn't end up as scary as I thought it would be."

He chuckled. "How many times must I repeat myself? You have-"

"Nothing to be afraid of since you're here." She smiled. "Strangely enough, I'm starting to believe that."

"Why is it strange?" What was she telling him?

"You haven't bullied me in ages. I can't remember the last time I heard you say something mean to me. You actually call me Hermione." She frowned. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's rather unusual for Draco Malfoy to suddenly turn around and befriend the Mudblood he's hated all these years." She looked up at the castle and Draco wondered if she was avoiding looking at _him._

"I do think 'rather unusual' is an understatement." She laughed. "But I do understand."

"Well?" She was looking at him now, expectant. Draco didn't know how to answer her. He'd been rather impulsive lately, with everything he'd done with her, but he still didn't have the courage to come out and admit what she'd done _to _him. He wasn't even completely sure of what she _had _done, himself.

"People change," he finally replied, gazing up at the stars. He felt the need to continue his explanation but didn't quite know what to say.

"I'm glad you did." The tone of her voice made Draco's heart skip a beat. He shuffled his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. She turned to leave. Suddenly, Draco wanted nothing more than to close that distance between them, finally, but he stood rooted to the spot. Was it just him, or was there disappointment in her eyes? "Well, good night, Draco."

"Good night, Hermione." She smiled once more and disappeared into the castle. With a glance at where she'd been standing, Draco mounted his broom and kicked off, soaring high into the night sky. The rush of cold air cleared his head a bit, though inside he was still in turmoil. _I'm glad you did. _What had she meant by that? Was she just happy that he'd stopped tormenting her? And what about that flicker of disappointment he could have sworn he'd seen in her eyes?

Draco flew over the castle grounds, ignoring the cold that bit through his shirt and pants. He tried to ignore the disappointment he had for himself, for not having done what he should have when he'd had the chance. He touched down where he'd left his things, finished changing, and packed up the equipment they'd used. The scent of lemons lingered, or maybe that was just him. He made his way to the castle on foot, though he felt exhausted. The entrance hall was dark and silent, and as he made his way toward the dungeon, he didn't notice the dark figure standing in a corner by a window that had a perfect view of where he and Hermione had been standing. He dropped his things next to his bed and fell asleep the second he hit his bed.

Meanwhile, in the entrance hall, Severus Snape moved away from the window and disappeared into the darkness.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. Now did that tickle your Dramione fangirl bones? R&R to let me know what you think, please and thank you!_


	22. Music

_A/N. Procrastinating my school work so I'm updating again! I see plenty of requests for a kiss and a happy ending. I'm not gonna promise anything, though, but I will tell you that I've already got the ending all planned out. Even I'm excited to type it out. But we've all got to be patient._

_Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. Damn, they came quick! 74 reviews and 15k hits. Hooray for reader love!_

**xxxxx**

NOW.

I read back through the pages of this journal. So little time, to be in love with someone like her. So little time to enjoy her caresses, her laughter, her temper –yes, I found even that endearing. Her love changed me so completely. I would have given her anything. I would have offered her forever. But in the end, we didn't have love or promises. All we had was borrowed time.

I miss her.

**xxxxx**

JANUARY 20th. 185 DAYS AGO.

_They were up in the sky. The wind whipped through his clothes, but he didn't feel the biting cold because her body was warm against his. He had his arm around her waist. She was leaning against him. The broom hovered beneath the stars and she was bathed in moonlight and he had never known someone so beautiful. He wanted to stay up in the air with her forever, fly away to somewhere where they could both be safe, live happily. But somewhere in the castle the clock tower tolled and he knew he had to let her go._

_He touched down near the castle. The night was quiet. Fireflies winked around them. Reluctantly he withdrew his arm. They both dismounted, not looking at each other. They stood there in the darkness and he was sure she could hear the beating of his heart, could probably see it thudding in his chest. The silence was unbearably loud. It pressed up against them, painfully. She was the first to speak._

_Thank you._

_Two words. Just those two words. But they hit him like a lightning bolt, electrified his veins, pulsed through his heart. Thank you. She had thanked him. How quickly they had gone from mortal enemies to friends. How quickly he had changed the way he looked at her. How quickly she had changed him._

_No, thank __**you**__, he thought. To her, he simply nodded._

_She was turning to leave, saying good night. She was leaving. He was standing there, rooted to the spot. Frozen. He had a chance. Just one chance. A slim one, finer than the white blonde hair that fell down over his eyes. He took it. He lifted a hand, broke through the ice of his heart. Broke his own walls. Took a step. Then another. She was almost completely turned away. His hand found her wrist, and it felt so fragile in his grip. She turned back and Merlin, her eyes, her eyes. He couldn't tear his away from hers. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and also, he hoped, from his touch. His fingers burned from the touch of her wrist. They were so close, so close. He reached up, brushed his hand over the apple of her cheek, watched her eyes widen as he drank her in, in all her beauty. He watched her eyes widen then close as the distance between them shortened. He watched her lips part and her body arch to his and the void between their skin closed-_

And Draco shot up in bed, hair a mess, sheets askew, clothes rumpled, heart thudding, his hand touching the place where her lips could have been, if everything he'd seen had been real.

**xxxxx**

The next day in Potions, Draco rubbed at his eyes and tried to wake himself up. After he'd jerked awake from the dream, he hadn't been able to go back to sleep, so he'd gone up to the Astronomy Tower to watch the sunrise. Ever since that night on the Quidditch pitch, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head. He replayed that night, over and over; it even appeared in his dreams. He kept beating himself up for not taking a chance.

The truth was, Draco was scared of kissing her. Their friendship was so new and fragile, the smallest error might turn it into something worse than what they'd had before –and he didn't want to lose her now. Couldn't bear the thought of losing her. And so every time the opportunity came up, he withdrew, backed away. Until he knew it was safe –until he knew she could feel the same way for him- he would keep his feelings hidden. Whatever those feelings were.

Something fell onto the floor and Draco broke away from his thoughts, feeling a bit guilty and a bit saddened.

"Longbottom, that is the third time this week that you have broken something in this class. Detention, _again, _and if you break something there I will give you detention for the rest of the year." Snape swept into the classroom and everyone fell silent. Draco felt Snape pause slightly by his table, but he kept his eyes down. Only when Snape moved away did he realize he was holding his breath.

"Today you will continue with your potions. Instructions are on the board." Snape waved his wand and writing appeared on the board at the front of the classroom. "Begin."

Draco took his flask of potion from the shelf at the side and returned to his seat. He fished in his bag for the appropriate ingredients and surreptitiously glanced to the right. A few seats away, Hermione was sitting with Harry and Ron. As if reading his mind, she glanced over at him and he gave her a small smile, which he returned. Smiling, he straightened and caught Snape watching him. His mood plummeted. Draco didn't put it past Snape to figure out his change in attitude toward Hermione –and to find the reason behind it.

He stood up, cutting up some roots. He could hear her berating Harry behind him. Across him, Pansy struggled to look attractive while shredding some figworms. He accidentally caught her eye and she licked her lips. Shuddering, he turned his attention back to his roots, trying his utmost to get them cut into perfectly even pieces. He heard Hermione's laugh and nearly sliced a finger. With a glance at Snape, he shifted a little to his left, so he had her in his peripheral vision. She was smoothly preparing ingredients, dropping them into the cauldron.

They hadn't been able to see much of each other the past few days. The few glances they'd snatched in class were the most interactions they'd had. Their paths hadn't crossed in the library, even, though Draco went back time and again.

"Mate, you're going to slice off your fingers if you don't pay attention, and how will you pleasure the ladies then?" Draco hadn't realized he was staring at Hermione until Blaise tapped his arm. He looked down and saw the knife was a hair's breadth away from his thumb. He carefully eased his finger away from the blade and finished slicing his roots, then tipped them into the cauldron.

"Thanks, mate," he said. Blaise simply nodded.

The next ingredient was in the stock cupboard, at the back of the room. Snape was busy scolding Goyle for melting yet another cauldron, so Draco took the slightly longer route, going by Hermione's table. As he passed by, his hand brushed the small of her back and she jerked around, knife at ready. Her arm faltered when she recognized him.

"Trying to kill me, Granger?" he drawled, amused. Inside though, his heart was thudding.

"Oh. It's you." A number of expressions crossed her face before she finally arranged it into a reasonably irritated expression.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He could see Harry and Ron out of the corner of his eye. Ron's knuckles were white around his own knife. He smirked.

"Nothing, Malfoy." Turning her head so Harry and Ron couldn't see, she stuck her tongue out at him, and it took all his strength not to lean forward and kiss the Cupid's bow of her lips. His fists clenched, he glared at her as best as he could. The corners of her mouth twitched. Ron was staring bloody murder at him, but Harry was watching the exchange curiously. Trying not to laugh himself, he made his way over to the stock cupboard. Before he was out of earshot, he heard Ron mutter, _jerk._

_You're the jerk, Weasel, _Draco thought as he sifted through the contents of the cupboard. Grabbing the ingredient he'd come for, he made his way back to his table and continued with his potion. He was almost finished with the required stage of the potion when Snape appeared beside him. He'd been so absorbed in crushing beetles with his knife that he didn't notice the professor until he spoke.

"And how is _your _potion coming along, Draco?"

Draco froze, having almost sliced his arm off in shock. _Where the bloody hell did he come from? _Outwardly, however, he smoothly replied, "Almost finished, Sir."

Snape leaned forward and surveyed the contents of his cauldron. The shade of red was a tad darker than that in the book, but it was otherwise correct. "Very well. I will see you in my office, nine o'clock, two days from now." And with that, he strode off to berate some other student.

Draco barely heard Snape's snide comments on Harry's and Ron's potions (he ignored Hermione again because he had nothing bad to say to her). Two days? He was expected to report back in two days? He turned to Blaise.

"Mate, what date is it today?"

"January 20." Blaise barely looked up from his work, which was fortunate for Draco, because he'd just gone as white as a sheet. January 20. He had little more than a week before Snape gave his report to Lucius. Where the bloody hell had the month gone?

Stiffly, he forced himself to go back to crushing beetles, imagining each one had his father's face. When he'd added them to the cauldron, which hissed and turned a violent shade of orange, he bottled a sample and took it to Snape, who nodded and marked something on his notes. As he made his way back to his cauldron to clean up, he saw Hermione was done as well and was now trying to help Ron finish his own potion. Feeling the weight of Snape's gaze on him, he hurried to his seat. But as he packed his things, he heard her laugh again, and the urge to see her grew stronger. He didn't understand why, but he always felt so… _drawn _to her. Not getting to see her had been hard. She occupied his every thought, no matter what he was trying to focus on. He threw a bottle of armadillo bile into the cauldron in frustration and it shattered, drawing the attention of the class.

"Sorry," he muttered. With a wave of his wand, the bottle repaired itself and its contents returned. Glancing around the room, he noticed Hermione's gaze resting a little longer on him than most. He looked away, finally gave in, tore out a piece of scrap parchment and wrote,

_Meet me in the Room of Requirement after class? –Draco_

As soon as Snape's back was turned, he levitated it toward her carefully. It dropped onto her lap but she didn't look down at it until Ron had gone to submit his sample of potion (which was more yellow than orange) and Harry was preoccupied with his bag. Draco delayed his leaving as much as he could, packing his remaining belongings as slowly as he dared, but when Blaise and Pansy finished cleaning up and stood nearby expectantly, he finally snapped his bag shut and turned to leave. In the corridor, Blaise, Pansy and Astoria Greengrass, another Slytherin, chatted with each other, with Draco lagging a few steps behind. Why hadn't she replied? Did she not want to see him? His insides felt heavier with each step. What was wrong with him?

But right before entering the Charms classroom, something brushed against Draco's hand. He paused, looking at his hand on the doorknob. Fluttering next to it was a little Japanese paper crane. It prodded at him with its artificial nose. He held out his hand and it landed on his palm and fell still. He opened it as soon as he got to his seat.

_Draco,_

_I'll be there._

_Hermione._

**xxxxx**

The minute his classes finished, Draco made a hurried excuse to Blaise and Pansy, and ran up to the seventh floor. Skidding to a halt (and almost colliding with a nearby statue), he paced in front of the wall. _I need a place Hermione and I can be alone together. A place no one can find us. A private place. _On his third walk past, a door appeared and he wrenched it open. What he saw inside made him pause.

It was patterned after the alcove in the library. Yellow curtains hung over large windows, with a large couch underneath, a table nearby. There were a few bookshelves off to the side. A fire crackled merrily across the couch. But what caught Draco off guard was the piano at the far corner of the room. It was almost exactly like the one they had at the Manor. As he stepped inside, Draco wondered what the bloody hell his subconscious had been thinking, to make the room appear like this.

Setting his bag down by the door, he made his way to the piano. It opened at his touch. His fingers drifted over the keys. It was perfectly in tune. Tentatively, he played the opening of one of his favorite tunes, a lullaby-like melody that seemed too sweet and tender for someone such as him. Soon he started on major works. He was so preoccupied with playing that, a few minutes into the Moonlight Sonata, he didn't notice the door open.

"Don't tell me you can play the piano _and _draw really well. That's just not fair." Her voice drifted to him over the music and his fingers paused.

"Oh, I know it's unfair. When they're combined with my undeniably good looks, impeccable manners and devilish smile, ladies just _can't _resist." He smirked at her.

"You were always big-headed," she remarked off-handedly, as she made her way to him. His fingers were shaking on the keys. The closer she got, the more nervous he became. "Is there anything else you can do?"

"Is that a serious question?" He played a few quick notes in succession to hide his agitation.

"Surprise me." She cocked her eyebrow in challenge.

He laughed at that. "Well my mother put me through some very extensive classes for what she calls 'proper societal behavior,' so I can do quite a bit. You already know I can draw and play the piano. I can do some formal dancing, and I've started on the violin. I'm also rather well-read." He smiled humorlessly down at the black and white keys and wondered why things weren't so black and white between them anymore. The distinction of Muggle-born and pureblood wasn't there anymore. The past few months had blurred it beyond recognition.

She laughed suddenly. He turned toward her, offended. "What are _you _laughing about?" he demanded.

"You really never fail to surprise me." They sat for a while, with her smiling up at him and him gazing at her, fighting to keep his face impassive so as not to give away the chaos inside his heart. She dropped her gaze to the piano, ran her fingers over the keys, played a few notes. "Play me something." Her voice was quiet, hesitant.

"Play you what?" Draco wasn't prepared to give a performance to anyone. Her request had taken him aback.

"Anything." She gave him a sideways glance. "Surprise me."

Steely eyes gazed into brown ones. Draco sighed, then smiled a bit and turned his attention back to the keys. He was distracted by their close proximity. Piano benches are only just big enough for two people, and their arms were almost touching. She shifted a bit to give him more room and the void between them widened and Draco almost closed it. Almost. But he turned his attention to the keys and began to play.

With his mother and father away so much, Draco mostly had the house to himself, and without siblings or playmates to entertain him, he'd had a lot of time to himself. He mostly spent this time reading, or sketching, or writing, or practicing his musical instruments. And somewhere along the way, during those lonely afternoons, he had learned to compose. It started out small –a few notes in succession, a little tune. But little by little he began to write down the notes he used, trying to compile them late into the night. The song he played for Hermione now was something he'd written a few years ago, a soft, lullaby-like tune, its cadence gentle, its notes light. He'd composed it on a summer afternoon. As his fingers ran over the keys, his thoughts began to drift toward the pretty girl next to him, and he wondered if he'd ever get the chance to compose a song for her.

The last few notes echoed in the room and for a few minutes, they sat in silence. Draco rested his fingers on the keys, trying not to look at her. Finally, when the silence became unbearable, he turned to her, only to find she had done the same. Their faces were inches away from each others'; her breath was warm on his cheeks. She flushed, but did not pull away, and met his gaze. Draco was reminded of his dream, and his desperate wish to have taken the chance before. Here it was now. Quite literally staring him in the face. But the fear was still there and he broke away, looked down, fiddled with a key. He was a bloody coward and he knew it.

"So why did you ask me here?" Her voice held no emotion other than curiosity.

"I… wanted to talk." A poor substitute for the real reason.

"Talk." She gave a short laugh. "Talk about what?"

"I don't know." He ran his hands through his hair. "School? Your friends? You?"

"Me?" She laughed more, throwing her head back, and Draco's fingers itched to stroke the smooth curve of her neck. "What would you want to know about me?"

"Anything." Was it him or did he sound somewhat breathless? She was staring at him then, her expression a cross between amusement and confusion. "What?" he asked, starting to feel uncomfortable under her gaze.

"You really have changed." It was a statement, not a question. Unable to reply, Draco simply nodded.

They stared at each other for a long while. He was unable to tear his eyes away. Two days. Snape was getting rather fond of giving him short deadlines. His pulse quickened at the thought, and at the way her eyes were looking at him, and at the pink of her cheeks, and at the redness of her lips as she pouted slightly, and before he could stop himself, Draco felt his real reason for asking her here fall from his lips-

"I missed you."

She blinked. Stared at him, eyes wide. Didn't say a word. He ducked his head, feeling the heat pool in his cheeks. Merlin, what the bloody hell did he have to go and say _that _for?

"It's getting late. Thank you… for this afternoon. You play very well." She was getting up, not looking at him.

Draco stood up, took a few steps after her, stopped. _Don't go, _he said in his head. But aloud he simply replied, "You're welcome. And thank you as well."

"For what?" She slung her bag onto her shoulder.

"For coming here." His heart was plummeting, his emotions spiraling downward. She was leaving.

"It was no problem." She faced him then, gave him a tight little smile. "Good night." She turned and left. Draco turned away from the door so he wouldn't be tempted to run after her. He stared out of the windows, at the dying sunlight, bathing the room in an orange glow. How strange for the room to have given them this. What had he been thinking? His subconscious had been a nuisance lately. But deep down, he found it was not at all unpleasant. His heart lifted every time she drifted through his mind. He smiled whenever he reminisced the few times they'd shared together. And he couldn't deny that his heart raced whenever he thought of all the chances he'd had to lean forward and close the space between them and…

Draco shook his head, not wanting to go there. And then he froze. He realized he hadn't heard the door shut. Trying, and failing, not to get his hopes up, he stayed perfectly still, waiting.

"I miss you too."

The click of the door closing echoed in the silence of the room.

**xxxxx**

_A/N. So… was that okay? Was it boring? And more importantly, was that ending too weird/random? I'm worried I didn't get it quite right, or didn't build up the emotions enough. R&R please! Let me know how I'm doing._


	23. Discovery

_A/N. Sorry for the hiatus from updating! School's taking up a lot of my time and I've been sick, so I haven't been able to write much. I hope you guys are still reading this! We're down to the last two chapters, so after the next one, we'll be saying goodbye. I'll write out a proper farewell author's note in the next chapter. For now, just sit back and enjoy the chapter._

**xxxxx**

JANUARY 22nd. 183 DAYS AGO.

The note she'd sent was tucked away in the pages of his journal. He'd slipped it there along with the sketch he'd done of her in the library. It was embarrassing to think about, but often in the middle of the night he'd take it out and read it. His fingers were starting to wear out the folds; the edges were getting tattered. But he clung to it, to the promise written on that little sheet of parchment. _I'll be there. _Just two names, and a promise, but that little slip of parchment meant more to Draco than anything else.

They'd spent the past two days meeting up in the Room of Requirement after class, furtively. They never spoke about it, but the secret they were keeping was giving them a rush. He'd played the piano for her again, and she'd clumsily played the few pieces she'd learned when she was younger. He'd sketched her, with her fingers over the keys, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips. She'd asked to keep the sketch, and made him sign it.

_Why? _he'd asked.

_For when you're famous, _she'd replied. They'd shared a laugh over that. He'd handed it over, only a little grudging. He could sketch her again.

She'd read aloud to him, from the Muggle literature the Room had magically turned out. Vonnegut's _Cat's Cradle. _Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet. _Homer's _Iliad. _This ridiculous book about hell, some sort of comedy by a guy named Dante. Hermione's childhood favorite, a book about a wizard boy named Henry Planter. He'd laughed heartily over the absurd notions of magic life in the book. Hocus pocus, indeed.

In turn, he'd recited various magical fairy tales and nursery rhymes. He told her of the classes his mother put him through, the places he'd been to. He'd drawn for her the avenue in Paris where he'd stayed for a summer, living with an insufferable aunt. There was a café a little way down from her lavish apartment that had a trellis full of roses. One old apartment building had ivy all the way up to the roof. He'd had fun practicing his French, conversing with local wizardfolk. She asked him to say something. He thought it over, then smiled.

_Vous êtes belle. _The compliment rolled off his tongue with ease; usually if he pulled that on girls it felt like it was being dragged from his lips. He'd smiled at her, a shy smile.

_What does that mean?_

_You're beautiful. _And she had been, with the pink on her cheeks and the smile she'd been unable to hide.

But now it was dinnertime, and he was only a few hours away from his meeting with Snape. All the memories of her swam through his mind, though he tried desperately to suppress them. _Clear your mind, clear your mind._ He couldn't afford Snape prying into his head again and seeing those memories –and reading how they'd made him feel. Any sort of civil contact with Mudbloods incited harsh words; surely his relationship with Hermione merited much, much worse. Draco fidgeted with his kidney pie, poked pieces of baked potato around his plate. He couldn't remember ever being this nervous.

Finally, unable to eat anymore and feeling like he'd hurl what little he _had _consumed, Draco stood up. He determinedly kept his eyes away from the staff table. Muttering some random excuse, he strode away from the Slytherin table. He was almost at the stairs leading down to the dungeons when someone called his name.

"Draco?" He turned around. It was Blaise.

"What?" In his agitation, his voice came out sharper than he'd meant. "Sorry, mate," he said in calmer tones. "What is it?"

"What's gotten into you?" His friend came forward hesitantly, as if afraid to be near him. "Pansy hasn't stopped talking about how worried she is about you. She goes on and on about how you barely eat, you have these giant eyebags, you're always disappearing for hours on end." Blaise stopped a few feet away, ran his hands through his hair. "Even I'm a little concerned, and this is me talking."

Draco would have laughed at that last part, but there was no humor in Blaise's voice tonight. "I don't know." It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie either. He did know who he was with, but he didn't know what it meant, or where he stood for her. "I've got a lot on my plate thanks to my father and Snape."

"And Granger?" Draco froze. His friend's remark had been so quiet for a moment Draco doubted his hearing, but the look Blaise was giving him confirmed it. It wasn't the death-gaze he'd been expecting, but it was a hard look nonetheless.

"What-" Draco's throat felt dry. He coughed, tried again. "What are you talking about?"

"Pansy may be a right idiot, Draco, but I'm not." Blaise kept his voice level, but that made Draco more nervous than if he had been shouting. "I see the way you glance at her in class, when you think we're not looking. I see the smile on your face. You haven't insulted her in weeks. You return her stuff _in person." _Blaise shook his head. "What's going on?"

How could he answer that? How could he tell Blaise that he'd changed? That he no longer believed in the ultimate superiority of the purebloods, as Blaise and the other Slytherins did? That he now respected, and even cared for, the girl he once tormented freely? That he maybe even… "Nothing." It killed him to lie to his friend (you didn't develop many friendships in the Slytherin house), but what else could he do? "It's part of my mission." At least that was the truth.

"Mission?" Blaise's tone was skeptical, and Draco didn't blame him. He didn't sound very convincing right now.

"For Him." Draco's left hand clenched as Blaise's eyes flicked to his arm and back up.

"What mission?"

Draco worked hard to keep his expression and tone neutral. "Predictable things. Spy on Potty and friends. Find a weakness. So I figured if I was a bit more civil to them, I might get to see more from them." He shrugged, trying to cover the fact that he was shaking slightly.

"Why Granger in particular?"

"She seemed like the easiest to get to." He looked up. Blaise was still regarding him with suspicion. Wishing to avoid further questioning, Draco started to turn away. "Anyway, I've got a meeting with Snape in a while. Best get ready for it."

"Draco-"

"See you in the dormitory." He didn't look back as he made his way down the stairs. He didn't want to see the expression on his friend's face. It could be the tipping point Draco needed to get everything tumbling out of him –everything he was trying so desperately to keep in.

**xxxxx**

"Good evening, Draco. It is certainly heartening to discover you can behave yourself." Snape was sitting at his desk, writing something, when Draco finally brought himself to enter. He'd been standing outside his House head's office door for a quarter of an hour, trying to work up the nerve to enter.

"Good evening, Professor," Draco replied dully. He couldn't muster the energy to retort or act childishly.

"I see you have also dropped the insufferable attitude. Perhaps tonight I may finally send a pleasant report to your father." Snape did not look up from his writings, and so Draco did not try so hard to control his expression. A _pleasant _report? How did Snape and his father communicate in a pleasant manner? Perhaps Snape commented on the weather or on excellent breakfast service? Ask Lucius over for tea? The idea was so ludicrous Draco almost laughed. Thankfully, by the time Snape put away his work and stood up, Draco's face was something close to impassive.

"Now, then, Draco," Snape said, picking up his wand. "I have observed over the past few months that you _can be _capable of adequate Legilimency, if you put your mind to it. It will, of course, take many years before you master the art, but at least you are not completely useless." He walked over, standing directly across Draco. "I hope this means you have been practicing."

It was a statement, not a question, meaning if Draco did not answer in the affirmative, things would not turn out well for him. He watched Snape's fingers trace over his wand. What could he do to him?

"Draco?" Snape's voice had grown even softer, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light of his office. Draco could feel his heart thudding in his chest, beating out the seconds toward imminent punishment.

"I have tried." He couldn't bring himself to look Snape in the eye.

"You have tried." Draco couldn't look up. It was taking all his willpower to remain calm, to not freak out or run away. Blaise had managed to figure him out, but he had bluffed his way out of it. He knew that he could not do the same with Snape. "I fail to understand, Draco, why you seem to be struggling to do your duty. The Dark Lord, your father, and I had thought that you would leap at the opportunity to breach Potter's mind, delve into his innermost secrets. Yet for some reason, your enthusiasm has been… lacking." Snape's voice was making the hair at the back of Draco's neck prickle. "Can you tell me why?"

_Lie. _"I have not had many opportunities to spy on Potter and his friends. It has been difficult-"

"Then why not create opportunities? You have been capable of such action before. And I do not doubt that your friends would be more than willing to help you."

"Crabbe and Goyle are far from competent-"

"I am acquainted with the mental prowess of Crabbe and Goyle, Draco. They did not need to be. Force would have been enough. Could you not have taken advantage of the Hogsmeade trip? Catching Potter and his friends there would have been simple enough."

By now Draco's hands were shaking from the effort to keep from punching the man before him. He couldn't lie or bluff his way out of this situation, nor could he keep quiet. And he definitely could not tell the truth. His defenses were weak, and he knew it. _Clear your mind, clear your mind. _Snape had told him the basics to Occlumency, but Draco had never practiced it. He regretted it now.

"Please do not persist in this insolent behavior, Draco." Snape was moving closer now, lazily, and behind the image of an overgrown bat Draco could sense that of a lion stalking its prey. "I do not think I need remind you of what is at stake should you fail in this mission. Your father is expecting a full report from me in nine days. So far in our correspondence, I have managed to deflect his inquiries. But I cannot keep covering up your mistakes, Draco. And if you do not bring me any information within nine days, you will have to take full responsibility for the past months." Draco's head jerked up involuntarily, until his eyes met the professor's. "I have tried to help you, Draco, but my patience with you is wearing thin."

"I never asked you to help me," Draco spat. Deflecting inquiries? Covering up his mistakes? What the bloody hell was Snape talking about?

"But you did not help yourself either." Snape was close now. "You did nothing to further this mission. You did not even try."

"You don't know that."

"Perhaps." They were face to face, divided only by their wands. Draco drew himself to his full height, pleased to see that he matched Snape inch for inch. "But I do know that you are hiding something, Draco. You have been withholding information."

Draco fought to keep his expression neutral, but inside he was beginning to panic. Withholding information? "I don't know what you are talking about, Professor," he lied through his teeth.

"Do not lie to me, Draco. We are in a school that does not keep secrets." Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Snape grip his wand tighter. "I have been watching you carefully, as your mother requested. Something about you has changed."

"I do not know-"

"Don't- lie to me!" Snape bellowed suddenly. Draco took half a step back, startled. "I have seen for myself what has changed you. I am not blind, Draco. I am not a fool." Draco stepped back further, panicking, but before he could reach for the door handle, Snape had raised his wand. "What have you been hiding?"

"Nothing-"

"Liar!" Snape pointed his wand straight at Draco's heart, which was beating wildly. "LEGILIMENS!"

**xxxxx**

_A/N. So… was it worth the wait?_


	24. The End

_A/N. Here we go! I give you the last chapter in this fanfic. 24 chapters and tens of thousands of words later, it's now over. Thank you so much to everyone who's read, reviewed, and made this story their favorite –it's made me incredibly happy. (I'm actually just a few reviews away from making the hundred mark, a first for me!) Thank you all so much for your support, criticism and praise. I hope to see your names again in the future, in my other fanfic._

_And now, it's chapter time! I hope it doesn't disappoint._

**xxxxx**

"LEGILIMENS!"

_Clear your mind, clear your mind. _Draco felt the breach in his mind, though he struggled against it. He'd learned so much about breaking into people's minds, he never paused to learn how to protect his own. He could feel Snape pushing in, prying, and though he tried to smother them, close them off, his memories surfaced, fresh, clear. Childhood memories flickered; huddling under the blankets to hide from his father, sketching the Manor grounds, practicing the piano. As they grew more and more recent, Draco grew more and more panicked. _Clear your mind. _But he couldn't. He couldn't, and Snape finally broke his feeble defenses and all Draco could think of as the memories took over him was _Hermione, I'm sorry-_

_He was in the library, watching her break down from between the shelves. He trained his wand onto her and was immersed in her memories, feeling the self-hatred of her eleven-year-old-self surge through her as she burrowed into the sheets-_

_The corridor was dark and the voices of her parents were filtering in, the perfume bottle was breaking and she was reassuring them she would make herself useful when she grew up-_

_She was turning the corridor, hearing Ron's voice, hurtling toward the Astronomy Tower, stumbling over the stones and Draco's heart was screaming for her to hold on-_

_They were together in the library, laughing over the doodles on the table, though Draco had quite forgotten them, only able to think of how close they were, of the lemon scent in the air-_

"No-" Draco struggled to pull his mind away, to reform a barrier, but Snape was too powerful-

_He was leaning toward her, her red lips, and then pulling away, stopping himself. She was leaning against him in the empty compartment, her head on his shoulder, and he was wishing the train ride would go on forever-_

_Snow was falling down around them and she was leaning against the fence and his arms were going out to her-_

"That's private-" and desperation and frustration were building up-

_And his cheek was pressed into her lemon-scented hair and she was soft and warm against him-_

_The night air was cool and crisp and he was telling her she had nothing to be afraid of, because he was there. He wouldn't let her fall, not ever; he would never let her get hurt-_

_The piano melody was light in the air and his fingers trembled over the keys because her skin was only a few inches away from his-_

"Stop!" Draco knew he was pleading but he had to get out of this somehow, had to get his mind away, but the memory of their latest afternoon together was playing-

_He was laying his head on her lap as the dying sunlight streamed through the windows of the Room of Requirement. They were laughing over something in Ancient Runes. Her fingers were playing with his hair and her cheeks were pink and Draco's hand found her cheek-_

"NO!" Draco bellowed, finally finding the strength to lift his wand. He knew he wasn't strong enough, not after that, but he would do anything, anything to stop Snape's attack. Anything to protect her. The fog in his mind began to clear and he could see Snape, vaguely, his face white as a sheet. He pushed himself up a little, her laughter in his mind-

"Get out of my head," he hissed, and _pushed-_

And Snape, who hadn't been prepared for a counterattack, lowered his wand a little-

_And Draco was on the ground, robes a mess, a boy who looked so much like Harry pointing his wand at him. His legs were locked and he was struggling toward something, and there was a pretty red-haired girl calling for someone to stop. He could feel the shame and hurt and anger welling up inside Snape and he turned to the girl and spat at her, calling her a Mudblood. The moment the words left his lips he felt the burn, the humiliation, the self-hatred for allowing that term to come from him. He wished more than anything that he had never said that, as her eyes turned on him, cold, cold fire-_

And there was pain in Draco's arm, suddenly, and he looked up. Snape was livid, shaking visibly. But that did not matter now, because Draco understood why Snape had tried to protect him, had been so lenient all this time.

"Draco-"

But before Snape could say anything, Draco was on his feet, bolting out the door. He had to get away, had to be alone, to think, to cry, anything. He could hear footsteps behind him, knew Snape was chasing him, and he ran on, desperation making him irrational. He ran blindly through corridors, turned corners at random, but the footsteps were getting nearer, and he panicked, and a suit of armor loomed out of the darkness and he slammed into it, hard. He stumbled backward, into something equally solid.

"Draco."

Shit.

He tried to pull away, but Snape gripped his arm tightly.

"What was that?"

Draco couldn't reply, just stood there, catching his breath, a stitch in his side.

"Answer me, Draco." The grip turned vise-like.

"…no…" he whispered, backing away slightly, trying to loosen Snape's grip.

"What have you been doing with her?"

"Nothing." Still whispered, still quiet. His childishness and stubbornness was surfacing.

"Why have you withheld this information?"

He stayed silent.

"Draco!"

Nothing.

Snape let out a roar of frustration that echoed off the castle walls. The corridors were dark; doubtless it was past curfew, He pushed Draco backward, and Draco collided with the wall, but he didn't feel it. Everything had gone numb.

"I have tried to make this easier for you, Draco." Snape was white as a ghost, shaking. "I have been lenient, allowing you to do your mission as you pleased. Months have gone by without report, but I have never forced one out of you. Am I to believe it is all because of that girl?"

"I don't-"

"Do not lie to me, Draco!" Snape's voice was strangled. "You should have reported what you saw, not kept it to yourself. That was information that we could use against them! She is not to be protected like this, Draco, shielded by your chivalry. She is undeserving of any of your affections. She is beneath you."

"That is a lie." Draco broke his silence, incensed at Snape's words. How could Snape say that, after what he'd witnessed in the old bat's mind?

"What did you say?" Snape's voice became quiet, dangerous. A tense snake, poised to strike.

"That. Is. A. Lie." Draco enunciated every word clearly.

Snape stared at him, incredulous, but Draco stood his ground. A heartbeat of silence, and then-

"What has she done to you?"

Draco blinked, surprised. "Nothing-"

"After your family, your elders have spent so long teaching you the truth?"

"It's not-"

"And you have the audacity to deny it, to protect her?"

"I am only-"

"I will not – have you jeopardizing this mission – for a silly – Mudblood – girl!" Snape roared. They stood there, staring daggers at each other, Draco's gray eyes defiantly meeting Snape's black. And then, abruptly, the fight seemed to drain out of Snape, and behind the face of an old, weary, cynical man Draco could see the lonely boy of memory, who had wistfully watched a red-haired girl in a library. "I will not," Snape said, quietly now.

In response, Draco simply turned and left. He didn't run, just turned his back on the Potions Master and walked down the hall. Snape made no move to follow. At the end of the hall he turned to go up the stairs and looked up and stopped abruptly, all the blood draining from his face. Standing on the steps, her brown eyes wide, her mouth open, was-

"Hermione," Draco gasped, and she turned and fled.

For a moment Draco stood there, frozen, staring at the place where she'd been standing seconds ago. Then something clicked in his head and his feet began to move, slowly at first, then faster, taking three steps at a time. He could hear her running ahead of him, her footsteps echoing in the night, and Draco couldn't be sure if it was his imagination, or could he hear sobs? He skidded around a corridor and she was pacing in front of a wall, desperately, the trolls in tutus watching her curiously. She rushed inside the newly formed door and Draco raced toward it, determined to get in before it closed-

He barely made it. He could feel the magic as the Room of Requirement sealed itself in. They were back inside the room, the room they'd been staying in all those afternoons, but the curtains were dull and the shelves were empty and the piano looked as if no one had touched it in a hundred years, though he'd played it only a few days ago. The fireplace was dead, caked over with ash. She was standing near it, her shoulders shaking. He approached her hesitantly. When she did not move, he laid a hand on her arm.

"Hermione-"

"Don't- call me that!" The sudden shrill sound of her voice startled him and he pulled back, staring. Her eyes were wild and there was a fury in them that put all anger she'd ever felt toward him before to shame. She backed away from him, lifting her wand. "Don't you dare fucking call me that, Draco Malfoy, don't you dare-"

"Listen to me. What you overheard-"

"What I overheard was what you should have told me ages ago!" She was shaking, the tears running down her face unchecked. "I should have known, I should have realized. I never questioned your motives, but I should have. Why would the great Draco Malfoy change for me, a silly Mudblood girl?" She gave a manic, derisive laugh.

"That's not the truth-"

"Don't lie to me, Malfoy." The renewed use of his last name stung. "I really believed in you, you know. I really thought there might be some good in you, that you were different from what we thought. That there were reasons behind your actions we just didn't understand." The fight was draining out of her, turning into hurt and sadness. The tears were evident in her voice. "But you were just using me, weren't you? You never cared. You were just stringing me along, all for your own stupid ends." She hung her head.

"I wasn't-"

"Don't lie. I heard you and Snape. I was just a mission, just a quest, that was all I ever was-"

"Hermione-"

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!" Draco was suddenly thrown back, probably by a nonverbal spell. He collided into an armchair, winced in pain, but welcomed it. He deserved it. "Don't you ever fucking call me that, ever again, you stupid arse." She moved forward, slapped him. Punctuated phrases with blows. "You liar. I thought you'd changed. I thought you really cared. I thought-"

"I did-"

"Shut up." The venom in her voice hit him like dragon fire. It set his blood boiling and suddenly, all he wanted to do was let her know. Let her know the truth, let her know how much she had changed him. Let her know what she'd done to him. What he felt. Damn them all, Snape, his parents, The Dark Lord. He didn't care about any of them anymore. About himself, even. All that mattered was the girl standing in front of him. It was now or never.

"Hermione, listen to me, please-"

"Please? Why should I listen to you? Why should I ever listen to you, after finding out everything I've come to believe about you is a lie?"

"Hermione-"

"Horrible little ferret-"

"GODDAMNIT, HERMIONE!" He couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed her wrists, suddenly, and before she could protest shoved her against the wall. She whimpered and he realized he had hurt her. Physically hurt her. He dropped her wrist, ashamed, repentant; rested his forehead on the wall next to her. Inhaled, exhaled, raggedly. Serrated oxygen.

"Goddamnit," he whispered. The Muggle swearword surprised both of them. He'd picked it up from her. There was silence, except for their heavy breathing. "That's not it." Panting. He could feel her chest rise and all. "That's not it at all."

He could feel her tension, feel her anticipation and fear. He could sense that she was trying to hold back her tears, stay calm. She was waiting. Giving him a chance. And inside himself he could feel the changes, could sense the walls in his heart crumbling. The feelings he had struggled for so long to contain, to bury, to deny, began surfacing, but oddly enough… he was calm.

"It _was _a mission, at first." He forced the words out of him, determined to clear the air. "I was supposed to spy on you, the three of you. You were my first target. But then I got into your head and the things I saw and the things they made me _feel-" _Draco cut off abruptly, his heart clenching. Hermione did not move.

"It wasn't supposed to end up this way," he continued. Quiet. Measured. "Not like this. You weren't supposed to get to me. You weren't…" He slammed his fist into the wall. Not calm. "But now you're all I can think about. You're in my thoughts, night and day, and I-" and here his voice faltered with his resolve and his hands shook and it took all his strength to pull back from the wall and look into those brown eyes and the hope in them, the desperate hope, gave him the courage to say it-

"I love you."

That was all. That was all he could manage to say. But it was true. He loved her, he did, with every fiber of his being, with all that he was. Every pathetic, lost, lonely inch of him. For a fearful heartbeat he was sure she would curse him. He stood there, not looking at her, tense, waiting, waiting for an answer, any answer. Anything at all. Seconds ticked by and nothing happened. He could hear her breathing, but he himself could barely take a breath.

Then suddenly she was embracing him, her skin touching his, and his arms were going around her waist and their eyes met and then their lips and he was kissing her, kissing the girl that he had been taught to hate but had learned to love. All the chances he'd passed up, all the opportunities he'd let slide, they didn't matter now. He pulled her tighter, closer, and she eagerly pressed her body to his. They fit together, like clockwork pieces, and suddenly Draco was feeling a certainty he hadn't felt since he had stepped into the wand shop six years ago. Their kiss escalated, passionate and heated and charged with desire; her hands were fumbling at his cloak and he was tugging at her inner blouse and she was pushing down the sleeves and he was undoing the buttons and they were touching, gripping every part of each other they could hold and she was reaching down to guide his hands to her chest-

-and then her hand closed around his left forearm and pain seared through him. His left arm was on fire and he was crumpling to the floor and there was a rushing noise all around him and a screaming. Someone was calling his name. But he was again a small boy and his world was all white and he could taste something metallic and raw and something thudded down next to him. And then there was silence. And nothingness. And something brown at the edges of his vision that disappeared with the dwindling light.

**xxxxx**

NOW.

All I have left is a letter. A small note. It's worn and crumpled and faded, but it's a note. It has our names on it, two names and a promise. I clutch on to it. It's all I have left of her.

The sun sets, I scratch another line into the wall, count off another day. I've been imprisoned here so long. I gaze outside the window, into the dying light. Wonder where she is, if she's alive. I hope she is. I hope with every fiber of my being that she is still there, looking out to the same sky as I am, knowing, somehow, that I am here, alive, and loving her still.

**xxxxx**

_Fin._


	25. In the Dark of the Night: Epilogue

_A/N. Whoa guys, chill! I know I gave you all one hell of a cliffhanger and it's frustrating, but that was kind of the point. It's supposed to get you guys thinking, "What happened? What __**can**__ happen?" but never give you any closure. I didn't want to drag out this fanfic too much._

_When I first conceptualized the idea for the story, I thought up the climax and loved it instantly. Dramatic writing is really what I'm best at; I'm shit with happy endings. So in this story, Draco gets nothing more than a fleeting touch of love, of true love, but as soon as he finally gets her heart, finally finds love, it's taken away from him and it's her fault (however inadvertent). She touches the Dark Mark on his arm in the midst of their passion, and I think we all know what that means. If you read between the lines of the "now" parts, you'll see he's imprisoned in Malfoy Manor. If you want details, he's locked up in the second floor storeroom, and the timeline (_ days ago) sort of tells you how long he's been there. It's all a bit vague, but that's what it is._

_I'm posting this surplus chapter mainly to explain things to the people who are confused. I'll also take the opportunity to say that I can't guarantee a sequel. I'm considering it, juggling a few ideas, but I'm not making any promises. I may just write a completely new fan fiction that gives them a happy ending instead. But rest assured, I'll do __**something.**_

_In the meantime, here's something to heighten the suspense and the throes of agony I know you guys are going through (please don't hate me hahaha). It's not an actual epilogue, more like a teaser (that may not lead to anything). Again, thank you so much for your reviews, critiques and support! 118 reviews- that's the most I've gotten and each one has made me incredibly happy. I look forward to writing more Dramione for you in the future!_

**xxxxx**

The room dimmed as the sun set, and Draco put down the quill, his eyes hurting from trying to write in the dying light. He touched the pages of his latest journal, feeling the indentations his words had made, the craters of his feelings. It had hurt to write it all down, but he knew he needed to. He had to preserve the memory of her somehow, some way, in any way. He was grateful they hadn't taken his journals away from him. His hands still itched for his wand, though.

Darkness filled the room, but he was used to it by now. He crossed the room blindly, using his hearing and his touch to guide him. He found the couch, curled up on it, raised his fingers to the scratches he'd made on the wall, one for every day he'd been imprisoned. The earliest ones were beginning to be smoothed over. It had been so long. He wondered what they'd done to her. If she was still alive.

The window creaked suddenly, and Draco tensed, pushing himself against the cushions. A longer creak followed, then silence. The room was pitch black; there was a new moon out. Soft, soft footsteps made their way across the room, so quiet that if Draco hadn't been wary of them, he would not have heard them. He huddled against the couch, desperately trying not to make any noise. The footsteps drew closer and Draco was sure the thudding of his heart was leading the intruder to him, it was beating so loud, and his breathing grew ragged and he screwed his eyes shut and Merlin, he didn't want to die, not without seeing her again, feeling her skin against his one last time-

-and a hand reached out and grasped his and wrapped his fingers around something thin and wooden and warmth spread through Draco, the same warmth and security he'd felt all those years ago, in a wand shop in Diagon Alley. He gripped his wand tightly and opened his eyes. Nothing, just utter blackness. He saw nothing, heard nothing but his own breathing. He traced a finger across the wand to make sure this wasn't all a dream.

And the a voice spoke, urgently, quietly, a voice Draco hadn't heard in months. A voice that brought back memories of a lonely boy watching a red-haired girl from between library shelves-

"Hurry."


	26. ANNOUNCEMENT!

_A/N._

_You may have guessed it! By popular demand (and because I've toyed with the idea, thought it over, and found that I quite liked it after all), YES, __**I WILL WRITE A SEQUEL!**_

_Commence cheering, fireworks, booze-guzzling and general celebration (haha, just kidding)._

_I'm not sure when I'll start it, but I've already got some ideas. Quick decision, I know, especially since I was saying I might not. But I've slept on it, read your reviews, and found that a lot of you really do want a follow up. And I'm starting to warm toward the idea, admittedly. So I will give in to reader requests and write a sequel. Plus I've been dying to make Draco and Hermione shag (hahaha) though depending on where I take the plot, they might not. I don't really know. Haven't thought very far._

_So there you have it! The sequel to Not Like This, coming soon! Stay tuned, put on your alerts, and hopefully, the story will be up and running in a jiffy._

_Thanks for the support, guys! Hope to see as much in the sequel!_

_And to actually put some substance in this chapter so doesn't get mad at me, a teaser for the sequel (told you I've got some ideas)._

**xxxxx**

It was a cold night, for September. The forest was quiet, most animals asleep, though the occasional hoot of an owl echoed in the darkness. A fox padded through the trees, following the trail of rabbit. The scent disappeared in a clearing. Suddenly, a loud crack filled the air and the fox jumped back, terrified. Two figures appeared in the clearing, bathed in moonlight. One of the waved something around and a small fire started on the ground. The other began walking around, muttering, and behind a small clump of bushes, the fox felt its fur stand on the end, its skin tingle. It backed away, whimpered, ran off.

In the clearing, the two figures huddled on the ground by the fire, the stars winking down on them as they sank into restless sleep.


	27. SEQUEL!

_A/N. _

_Dear Readers,_

_The sequel is up! Check it out –the title is Renegade. Tell me if it's any good, haha!_

_With much love,_

_~harlequindreaming_

_The rest of this chapter is basically the teaser again. Which is a little different from the actual prologue of the story, but meh._

**xxxxx**

It was a cold night, for September. The forest was quiet, most animals asleep, though the occasional hoot of an owl echoed in the darkness. A fox padded through the trees, following the trail of rabbit. The scent disappeared in a clearing. Suddenly, a loud crack filled the air and the fox jumped back, terrified. Two figures appeared in the clearing, bathed in moonlight. One of the waved something around and a small fire started on the ground. The other began walking around, muttering, and behind a small clump of bushes, the fox felt its fur stand on the end, its skin tingle. It backed away, whimpered, ran off.

In the clearing, the two figures huddled on the ground by the fire, the stars winking down on them as they sank into restless sleep.


End file.
